"Can't be! can't be!" retorted Wesley Tiffles, who was at first disposed
to defend his brilliant idea. But brilliant ideas were a common growth
of his fertile mind, and, like all things easily produced, he held them
cheaply. The moment that evidence, or the test of practice, showed them
to be fallacious, he gave them up, and drew upon his brain for others.
So, after a second's reflection, he added:
"Perhaps you are right. Dogs are not exactly in my line, after all. But
the idea, as an idea, was magnificent."
As Wesley Tiffles spoke, he repeated the act, for the twentieth time, of
throwing back his overcoat (a little seedy), and opening his vest, as if
to draw attention to his shirt front, whose natural whiteness was toned
down by a delicate neutral tint. Immediately afterward, he placed his
hand on a small breastpin in the centre of the shirt front, and turned
it to the right and left. It sparkled for the first time in the rays of
the fire, and revealed to the experienced eyes of the three bachelors
simultaneously, that Wesley Tiffles was the wearer of a real diamond.
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