A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. He opened the drawer of the writing table. ’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. With the usual precautions, Austin then departed. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. So this is why I was chosen, because of the babies. 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.
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