"And are you not afraid of this ghost?"
"No," said I.
"It must be very lonely here."
"Delightfully so."
"Are you so fond of solitude?"
"Yes, for solitude is thought, and to think is to live."
"And what did you do with the—pistol?"
"I dropped it out of sight behind my books yonder."
"I wonder why I gave it to you."
"Because, if you remember, I asked you for it."