She herself had cut the slender tie that had bound them. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping.
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