Now, I ain't alone, as you may think I am. There's the author hid with me, in comparison with which author I am a Angel. The author writes the words I speak. The author has a secret way pecooliar to himself of getting at a reader, and at his heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a reader to attempt to hide himself from the author. A reader may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but the author will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open. I am keeping the author from harming you at the present moment with great difficulty. I find it wery hard to hold the author off of your inside. Now, what do you say?
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Epigraph:
Enkidu was grown weak, for wisdom was in him, and the thoughts of a man were in his heart.
(The Epic of Gilgamesh)
Note: The 'young man' of the original paragraph is revealed to be the author, making comment on the relationship between the reader, the character(s) and the author comsummated in the act of reading.
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