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LIST OF CHAPTERS
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BARRY LINDON
by William Makepeace Thackeray
We thank The Gutenberg Projekt for this public domain version - Complete text in one page
[1/books/0-incl-books.htm]

 

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races at the Phoenix, the ridottos and routs, until I became quite
eager to join in those pleasures; and I only felt grieved to think
that my position would render secrecy necessary, and prevent me from
being presented at the Court, of which the Fitzsimonses were the
most elegant ornaments. How different was her lively rattle to that
of the vulgar wenches at the Kilwangan assemblies! In every sentence
she mentioned a lord or a person of quality. She evidently spoke
French and Italian, of the former of which languages I have said I
knew a few words; and, as for her English accent, why, perhaps I was
no judge of that, for, to say the truth, she was the first REAL
English person I had ever met. She recommended me, further, to be
very cautious with regard to the company I should meet at Dublin,
where rogues and adventurers of all countries abounded; and my
delight and gratitude to her may be imagined, when, as our
conversation grew more intimate (as we sat over our dessert), she
kindly offered to accommodate me with lodgings in her own house,
where her Fitzsimons, she said, would welcome with delight her
gallant young preserver.

'Indeed, madam,' said I, 'I have preserved nothing for you.' Which
was perfectly true; for had I not come up too late after the robbery
to prevent the highwayman from carrying off her money and pearls?

'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

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