He peered around the room curiously, his blue eyes intently searching every corner, his long nose almost twitching. "Got someone with you, Fred?"
"No."
"Mm? Could have sworn I heard you talking to someone."
"I ... I was reading some dialogue out loud."
"Oh? Working, are you?"
He walked up to the machine, and I tried to cover the dialogue—or correspondence—I'd recently had with the typewriter. I was too late. He put his nose close to the machine, as if he were smelling it to see if it was edible.
"Curious," he said. "A new ... uh ... art form?"
"No!" I snapped. "It...."
"That's Poe there, isn't it?"
"I suppose," I said despondently.