In an easy-chair opposite to me my listener sat and listened for two
hours every evening. I interested myself by watching and attempting to
analyze the expressions on his face, but what these appeared to indicate
made no difference in my remarks. I do not think he liked repetitions,
but if I chose to tell a thing several times, I did so. He had no right
to tell me that he had heard that before. Immunity from this remark was
to me a rare enjoyment.
I made it a point to talk as well as I could, for I like to hear myself
talk well, but I paid no attention to the likings of my listener. Later
I should probably do this, but at present it was a joy to trample upon
the likings of others. My own likings in this respect had been so often
trampled upon that I would not now deny myself the exercise of the
right--bought and paid for--to take this sweet revenge.
On the evenings of nine week-days and one Sunday, when I confined myself
entirely to a description of a short visit to Palestine, I talked and my
listener listened. About the middle of the evening of the tenth
week-day, when I was engaged in the expression of some fancies evoked by
the recollection of a stroll through the Egyptian department of the
Louvre, I looked at my listener, and beheld him asleep.
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