Melville givesBartleby neither. No sense ofromance, either. I left the fridge with all thebeer still safe inside, went back to the phone, and called Mattie. I didn't climb it, only laybeside it holding onto the ladder with one hand and lazily kicking myfeet.
Are you sure? Are you, are you? I didn't answer. All ofthese things happened at the same time, weaving in and out of each otherlike strands of some exotic rope or belt. My letters all went bye-bye. He was glad he wasalone in there.
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