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“Round midnight, I think. My agent is here, and he has brought his contract for me to sign. “The Widgetts,” she said. "God in Heaven!" he cried, "the floor is covered with blood. 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. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. “Have you killed recently?” He was curious, scared.
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