He looked at me—reflected. “Perhaps I do, now I come to think of it. But what was it you wanted to speak to me about?”
“Why, this!”
“This?”
“Yes. Why do you do it? Every night you come making a noise——”
“Making a noise?”
“Like this”—I imitated his buzzing noise.
He looked at me, and it was evident the buzzing awakened distaste. “Do I do that?” he asked.
“Every blessed evening.”
“I had no idea.”