It tore her apart. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. "Taber," said the manager; "Taber is the name. 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. ‘Nothing would do for her but to come here,’ grumbled Hilary, wiping his heated brow with a pocket handkerchief dragged from his immaculate white uniform breeches. What about your real mother? Wasn’t she also a foster child? Michelle told me that she was suspected of murder, some people named McFerrin, McDougal. ” “Right!” he answered. 84 < 12 > A SECOND DATE WITH JOHN DIEDERMAYER “Ding dong. A lovely, fetching girl. Spurling.
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