" "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. I've got the watch-spring saw in my sleeve. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. “He seems like such a nice boy. Tell me all that happened, one sister-woman to another. . 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. “I’ll buy a new one. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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