we were walking past the middle room of his house. There was a table
in there with a typewriter on it. "Quiet", he whispered, pushing me
ahead of him into the kitchen. "My new novels's in there. I kind of
stroll in occasionally, write a few quick paragraphs, and get out
before the novel knows what I'm doing. If novels ever find out
you're writing them, you're done for."'
