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. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. You have betrayed me. 8. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. “It’s too bad. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. ’ ‘I am afraid that there is,’ Gerald told her evenly. Spit of your mother. She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face.
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