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” “Of course,” his friend answered. Don’t try. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. She let her mind run into dreams of that cloud paradise of an altered world in which the Goopes and Minivers, the Fabians and reforming people believed. He slapped his knee. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. “He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. I love some one else. It must be sent home this evening. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. Let me see my child, if he is really here?" "Behold him!" returned Trenchard, taking Thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her.

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