But Mejnour seemed wholly indifferent to all the actual world.

If he committed no evil, he seemed equally apathetic to good.

His deeds relieved no want, his words pitied no distress.

What we call the heart appeared to have merged into the intellect.

He moved, thought, and lived like some regular and calm abstraction, rather than one who yet retained, with the form, the feelings and sympathies of his kind.
Glyndon once, observing the tone of supreme indifference with which he spoke of those changes on the face of earth which he asserted he had witnessed, ventured to remark to him the distinction he had noted.
"It is true," said Mejnour, coldly.