"I don't know what his idea was. 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 knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. She grew attached to a pair of twins, a boy named Fritz and a girl named Anna, belonging to an auburn-haired Viennese prostitute named Clotilde.
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