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St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England by Robert Louis Stevenson
page 41 of 373 (10%)

Such speeches were the coin in which I paid my way among this
credulous race. Ninety per cent. of our visitors would have
accepted the remark as natural in itself and creditable to my
powers of judgment, but it appeared my lawyer was more acute.

'You are not entirely a fool, I perceive,' said he.

'No,' said I; 'not wholly.'

'And yet it is well to beware of the ironical mood,' he continued.
'It is a dangerous instrument. Your great-uncle has, I believe,
practised it very much, until it is now become a problem what he
means.'

'And that brings me back to what you will admit is a most natural
inquiry,' said I. 'To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?
how did you recognise me? and how did you know I was here?'

Carefull separating his coat skirts, the lawyer took a seat beside
me on the edge of the flags.

'It is rather an odd story,' says he, 'and, with your leave, I'll
answer the second question first. It was from a certain
resemblance you bear to your cousin, M. le Vicomte.'

'I trust, sir, that I resemble him advantageously?' said I.

'I hasten to reassure you,' was the reply: 'you do. To my eyes,
M. Alain de St.-Yves has scarce a pleasing exterior. And yet, when
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