She learned quickly, absorbing all she could as quickly as possible as her adoration grew for him. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. “If I cut her neck, you’ll never get the stains out of your fancy car. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!" "Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?" "I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast. “Eight, Cavendish Square. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help.
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