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Barry Lyndon by William Makepeace Thackeray
page 72 of 409 (17%)

'And sure, ma'am, them wasn't much,' said Sullivan, the blundering
servant, who had been so frightened at Freny's approach, and was
waiting on us at dinner. 'Didn't he return you the thirteenpence in
copper, and the watch, saying it was only pinch-beck?'

But his lady rebuked him for a saucy varlet, and turned him out of
the room at once, saying to me when he had gone, 'that the fool
didn't know what was the meaning of a hundred-pound bill, which was
in the pocket-book that Freny took from her.'

Perhaps had I been a little older in the world's experience, I
should have begun to see that Madam Fitzsimons was not the person of
fashion she pretended to be; but, as it was, I took all her stories
for truth, and, when the landlord brought the bill for dinner, paid
it with the air of a lord. Indeed, she made no motion to produce the
two pieces I had lent to her; and so we rode on slowly towards
Dublin, into which city we made our entrance at nightfall. The
rattle and splendour of the coaches, the flare of the linkboys, the
number and magnificence of the houses, struck me with the greatest
wonder; though I was careful to disguise this feeling, according to
my dear mother's directions, who told me that it was the mark of a
man of fashion never to wonder at anything, and never to admit that
any house, equipage, or company he saw, was more splendid or genteel
than what he had been accustomed to at home.

We stopped, at length, at a house of rather mean appearance, and
were let into a passage by no means so clean as that at Barryville,
where there was a great smell of supper and punch. A stout red-faced
man, without a periwig, and in rather a tattered nightgown and cap,
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