"No," I mumbled. "Thanks. I've got to talk to the machine."
I left him and went back to my own room. I put a sheet of paper into the typewriter, and said, "Why'd you do it? Why?"
DON'T GET MELODRAMATIC, the machine typed. THE STORY WAS A HUNDRED TIMES BETTER THAN THAT DRIVEL YOU WROTE LAST NIGHT.
"Yes, but it's not mine! Can't you understand that? Poe wrote it."
AND YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN POE? HOW RIDICULOUS!
"I think nothing of the sort! Besides, that has nothing at all to do with it. I simply can't go around writing stories another man has already written."
WHY NOT?
"Well.... I can't, that's all. It isn't done!"
HA!
"It isn't done in polite circles."