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- 1365
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- 2026-01-30T07:57:34.136Z
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- structure-extraction-lambda
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- 1290
- text
- person present obscurely threatened) I considered the matter, and at
length said, that if the lawyer would give me a confidential interview
with the scrivener, in his (the lawyer’s) own room, I would that
afternoon strive my best to rid them of the nuisance they complained
of.
Going up stairs to my old haunt, there was Bartleby silently sitting
upon the banister at the landing.
“What are you doing here, Bartleby?” said I.
“Sitting upon the banister,” he mildly replied.
I motioned him into the lawyer’s room, who then left us.
“Bartleby,” said I, “are you aware that you are the cause of great
tribulation to me, by persisting in occupying the entry after being
dismissed from the office?”
No answer.
“Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something,
or something must be done to you. Now what sort of business would you
like to engage in? Would you like to re-engage in copying for some
one?”
“No; I would prefer not to make any change.”
“Would you like a clerkship in a dry-goods store?”
“There is too much confinement about that. No, I would not like a
clerkship; but I am not particular.”
“Too much confinement,” I cried, “why you keep yourself confined all
the time!”
“I would prefer not to take a clerkship,” he rejoined, as if to settle
that little item at once.
“How would a bar-tender’s business suit you? There is no trying of the
eyesight in that.”
“I would not like it at all; though, as I said before, I am not
particular.”
His unwonted wordiness inspirited me. I returned to the charge.
“Well then, would you like to travel through the country collecting
bills for the merchants? That would improve your health.”
“No, I would prefer to be doing something else.”
“How then would going as a companion to Europe, to entertain some young
gentleman with your conversation,—how would that suit you?”
“Not at all. It does not strike me that there is any thing definite
about that. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular.”
“Stationary you shall be then,” I cried, now losing all patience, and
for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly
flying into a passion. “If you do not go away from these premises
before night, I shall feel bound—indeed I _am_ bound—to—to—to quit the
premises myself!” I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what
possible threat to try to frighten his immobility into compliance.
Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him,
when a final thought occurred to me—one which had not been wholly
unindulged before.
“Bartleby,” said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such
exciting circumstances, “will you go home with me now—not to my office,
but my dwelling—and remain there till we can conclude upon some
convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now,
right away.”
“No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all.”
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- Chunk 2