‘Grace à vous, I am compelled to rescue myself. 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 guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving. So I've grown hard—outside. “I cut off his right hand pinky with his own rusty bolt cutter. "Can I help you, Jack?" asked Thames, taking up a plane.
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