"You're a pretty smart lad ... do you want to go back with him when he goes?"
"No, Mr. Hartman."
"Well, we can tip the porter to take care of him ... but why don't you want to go with him, we will foot your expenses?"
"I have other things to do," I answered vaguely.
He gave a gesture of impatience....
There was a hush in the house, as I stepped softly up the stairs. The catch of the front door was back....
First I went to my room and found all my books intact ... in better condition even, than when I was home with them ... there was not a speck of dust anywhere. Evidently my father was not too sick to keep the place clean ... but then, I meditated he would attend to that, with his last effort.
My books were my parents, my relatives. I had been born of them, not of my own father and mother. My being born in the flesh was a mere accident of nature. My father and mother happened to be the vehicle.
But the place was so quiet it perturbed me.