"Let it pass. These passers-by who touch us but lightly and are gone, leaving the eternal imprint! So long as she lived, Ruth would always remember that embrace. How dreary it all looks. I shouldn't talk like that. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. The continuity was frequently broken in upon by diversory suppositions. 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. The air was pungent and leaden.
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