He had now reached what was called the Lower Leads,—a flat, covering a part of the prison contiguous to the gateway, and surrounded on all sides by walls about fourteen feet high. ‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest. 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. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison. "In favour of my son. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. It doesn’t matter.
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