E. L. White

“ Yet I saw him, two minutes ago, swaggering down the street, flower in his buttonhole and twirling his stick, as though he was going smash for the good of his health. It was fine, though!” His face brightened. “That buttonhole, now! The spirit of bravado. He may be a scamp, swindler—what you like—but you can't deny he's a man!”
May Wicks colored with exasperation.
“Really, haven't you troubles enough of your own to look after, without raving about that rogue? You exhaust my patience. Why don't you go up to Woodruff House to find out what's happening there?” ”

“ Can't go against Destiny. Bolingbroke smashed and I——'”
“Bolingbroke? What has Bolingbroke to do with you? Look!” May's voice rose in an hysterical note. “Look at the check! Can't you realize it?”
Instead of obeying her, Carolus Wicks looked in the glass.
He saw a man with an ill-proportioned head, a shock of rough hair, plebeian features, watery eyes and a tremendous mouth. A face totally lacking in distinction. The face of a nonenity. The face of any small man—of any little tradesman. ”

“ Wicks grasped at the remnant of his courage.
“Because I have always admired you above all other men. I can't make you realize what you stand for to me. Bigness. That's it. And although I'm only a small tradesman, I've felt bigness, too—inside me. And I've felt it wonderful that we should pair like we do. In looks too. I've often been mistaken for you.”
Bolingbroke scrutinized him intently.
“Strange,” he said at last, “that a man should not know his own face! Well—what do you make of it all—my Double?”
Wicks caught at the words. ”

“ The glory of the moment bubbled through his veins like strong wine, stirring within him a riot of sensations. Like one who has sustained the shock of explosion, his faculties were §still fluttering vagrants, and his personality a blank vessel for strange tenancy. ”