And, instead of smiling mockingly at those who
gave the sixpences, and waiting for them to give more, he even looked
grateful, and at the same time deeply ashamed. He differed from
Bardini also in that he was very thin and tall, with the serious,
smooth-shaven face of a priest. Except for his fantastic costume,
there was nothing about him to recall the poses of the musician: his
hair was neither long nor curly; it lay straight across his forehead
and flat on either side, and when he played, his eyes neither sought
out the admiring auditor nor invited his applause. On the contrary,
they looked steadfastly ahead. It was as though they belonged to
someone apart, who was listening intently to the music. But in the
waits between the numbers the boy's eyes turned from table to table,
observing the people in his audience. He knew nearly all of them by
sight: the head waiters who brought him their "commands," and his
brother-musicians, had often discussed them in his hearing. They
represented every city of the world, every part of the social
edifice: there were those who came to look at the spectacle, and
those who came to be looked at; those who gave a dinner for the sake
of the diners, those who dined for the dinner alone.
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