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. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up in significance what it lacked in precision. She was frightfully hungry. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. His French is better than mine, so he knew exactly what he was handling.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTIuMTUwLjIwMyAtIDEwLTA2LTIwMjQgMjA6Mjg6NTkgLSAxODUwNDg5MjQz
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