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The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon by Washington Irving
page 61 of 458 (13%)
that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree."

Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he
went up the mountain; apparently as lazy, and certainly as
ragged. The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted
his own identity, and whether he was himself or another man. In
the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cocked hat demanded
who he was, and what was his name?

"God knows!" exclaimed he at his wit's end; "I'm not myself--I'm
somebody else--that's me yonder-no--that's somebody else, got
into my shoes--I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the
mountain, and they've changed my gun, and everything's changed,
and I'm changed, and I can't tell what's my name, or who I am!"

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, wink
significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads.
There was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping
the old fellow from doing mischief; at the very suggestion of
which, the self-important man with the cocked hat retired with
some precipitation. At this critical moment a fresh, comely woman
pressed through the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man.
She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his
looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, you little
fool; the old man won't hurt you." The name of the child, the air
of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of
recollections in his mind.

"What is your name, my good woman?" asked he.

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