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When one fib becomes due as it were, you must forge another to take up the old acceptance; and so the stock of your lies in... Options
Daemon
Posted: Tuesday, April 24, 2018 12:00:00 AM
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When one fib becomes due as it were, you must forge another to take up the old acceptance; and so the stock of your lies in circulation inevitably multiplies, and the danger of detection increases every day.

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863)
Bully_rus
Posted: Tuesday, April 24, 2018 12:44:01 PM
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Yeah. Fibs are not for faint-hearted...
Emel Rapchan
Posted: Tuesday, April 24, 2018 1:58:57 PM

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William Makepeace Thackeray
- He is known for his satirical works, particularly Vanity Fair, a panoramic portrait of English society.
- Being Born in Calcutta, his father was a secretary to the Board of Revenue in the Britsh East Company.
- He began as a satirist and parodist, writing works that displayed a sneaking fondness for roguish upstarts such as Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair, and the title characters of The Luck of Barry Lyndon and Catherine.
- In his earliest works, written under such pseudonyms as Charles James Yellowplush, Michael Angelo Titmarsh and George Savage Fitz-Boodle, he tended towards savagery in his attacks on high society, military prowess, the institution of marriage and hypocrisy.
monamagda
Posted: Tuesday, April 24, 2018 2:19:44 PM

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Context from:VANITY FAIR

Chapter LXVI

Amantium Irae


Frankness and kindness like Amelia's were likely to touch even such a hardened little reprobate as Becky. She returned Emmy's caresses and kind speeches with something very like gratitude, and an emotion which, if it was not lasting, for a moment was almost genuine. That was a lucky stroke of hers about the child "torn from her arms shrieking." It was by that harrowing misfortune that Becky had won her friend back, and it was one of the very first points, we may be certain, upon which our poor simple little Emmy began to talk to her new-found acquaintance.
"And so they took your darling child from you?" our simpleton cried out. "Oh, Rebecca, my poor dear suffering friend, I know what it is to lose a boy, and to feel for those who have lost one. But please Heaven yours will be restored to you, as a merciful merciful Providence has brought me back mine."
"The child, my child? Oh, yes, my agonies were frightful," Becky owned, not perhaps without a twinge of conscience. It jarred upon her to be obliged to commence instantly to tell lies in reply to so much confidence and simplicity. But that is the misfortune of beginning with this kind of forgery. When one fib becomes due as it were, you must forge another to take up the old acceptance; and so the stock of your lies in circulation inevitably multiplies, and the danger of detection increases every day.
"My agonies," Becky continued, "were terrible (I hope she won't sit down on the bottle) when they took him away from me; I thought I should die; but I fortunately had a brain fever, during which my doctor gave me up, and — and I recovered, and — and here I am, poor and friendless."
"How old is he?" Emmy asked.
"Eleven," said Becky.
"Eleven!" cried the other. "Why, he was born the same year with Georgy, who is — "
"I know, I know," Becky cried out, who had in fact quite forgotten all about little Rawdon's age. "Grief has made me forget so many things, dearest Amelia. I am very much changed: half-wild sometimes. He was eleven when they took him away from me. Bless his sweet face; I have never seen it again."
"Was he fair or dark?" went on that absurd little Emmy. "Show me his hair."


http://www.victorianlondon.org/etexts/thackeray/vanity_fair-0066.shtml
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