This fact was made apparent to Christie one evening when she went
down to the weekly gathering in one of the melancholy moods which
sometimes oppressed her. She felt dissatisfied with herself because
her interest in all things began to flag, and a restless longing for
some new excitement to break up the monotonous pain of her inner
life possessed her. Being still a little shy in company, she slipped
quietly into a recess which commanded a view of both rooms, and sat
looking listlessly about her while waiting for David, who seldom
failed to come.
A curious collection of fellow-beings was before herj and at another
time she would have found much to interest and amuse her. In one
corner a newly imported German with an Orson-like head, thumb-ring,
and the fragrance of many meerschaums still hovering about him, was
hammering away upon some disputed point with a scientific Frenchman,
whose national politeness was only equalled by his national
volubility. A prominent statesman was talking with a fugitive slave;
a young poet getting inspiration from the face and voice of a
handsome girl who had earned the right to put M. D. to her name. An
old philosopher was calming the ardor of several rampant radicals,
and a famous singer was comforting the heart of an Italian exile by
talking politics in his own melodious tongue.
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