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I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. Langley, I appeal to you. 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 is constantly thinking of you,’ I said. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. Lucilla clearly adored her betrothed, anyone could see that.
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