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Hawthorne, Julian, 1846-1934

"Bressant"

She was about to take his arm, when the hostess touched
her on the shoulder.
"Wait a moment," said she, with a peculiar grave smile; "I'll bring you
your _protege_."
Bressant was standing in the door-way of an inner room, leaning with the
elbow of one arm in the hand of the other, as he pulled at his mustache
and twisted the beard on his chin. He looked ill at ease, and as if he
rather regretted his intrepidity in coming down. Had he been what is
called a student of human nature, he might have been interested in the
quaint people and customs which an occasion like this would bring to
light. But he believed that all the traits and elements of mankind at
large were comprised, in a superior form, within himself, and that,
knowing himself, he would virtually know the world. This somewhat
exclusive creed had, doubtless, been aided and abetted by his deafness,
which, even had he been otherwise inclined by nature, must have thrown
him back, in great measure, upon himself; or, possibly, the dogma may
have been but an outgrowth of the physical defect: he fights hard and
well, in this world, who counteracts the bias given by bodily infirmity.
In any case, however, since such was the position of his mind, he could
scarcely be expected to derive much entertainment from a social occasion
like the present.


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