"No," I said blankly. "No. No."
"If you intend having a nervous breakdown, I wish you'd do it in your own room. I really have quite a bit of work to...."
"No," I said. "Poe."
"Really, now, Fred...."
"My typewriter," I blurted. "It talks, Perry. It writes. It does stories. Poe. Always Poe. Perry...."
"Oh-oh," he said, staring at me curiously.
"First Usher, and then The Raven, and Masque of the Red Death, and now...."
"The Facts In The Case Of M. Valdemar. Quite."
"I ... I have to go, Perry. I have to go talk to that typewriter. I have to find out what this is all about."
Perry leaped to his feet. "Perhaps you'd like to lie down for a while, Fred. Maybe I can get you something cool to drink."