More than this, since his
mind no longer entertained any lofty ideals, he had ceased to believe in
(although he could not have expressly denied) their reality. He had grown
also into the habit of taking refuge in trivial considerations, which
allowed him to set on one side matters of fundamental importance. Just as
he had never stopped to ask himself whether he would not have done better
by not going into society, knowing very well that if he had accepted an
invitation he must put in an appearance, and that afterwards, if he did
not actually call, he must at least leave cards upon his hostess; so in
his conversation he took care never to express with any warmth a personal
opinion about a thing, but instead would supply facts and details which
had a value of a sort in themselves, and excused him from shewing how much
he really knew. He would be extremely precise about the recipe for a dish,
the dates of a painter's birth and death, and the titles of his works.
Sometimes, in spite of himself, he would let himself go so far as to utter
a criticism of a work of art, or of some one's interpretation of life, but
then he would cloak his words in a tone of irony, as though he did not
altogether associate himself with what he was saying.
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