"I am here, you see," said the smith. Like a petulant child he snapped. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. And she would have rushed to him, if she had not been forcibly withheld by her son. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over.
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