” “One has theories,” said Ann Veronica, radiantly. "I fear not," replied Jack, despondingly. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. She is your sister, and God knows I wish her none. 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 came to befriend the female mistresses, some who were even so audacious as to bring their children into the house. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked.
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