{"id":"01KG6YH9P0X3P76MT1YT0P9C92","cid":"bafkreibupcrpjmj4m3elskuf4mbiophsmfyxaupgmc3v3ebsl46jvarpna","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":1462,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:55.409Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 2","source_file":"01KG6YDDF6PTWG4P7JTS5THSTD","start_line":1370,"text":"No reply.\r\n\r\n“Bartleby,” said I, in a still gentler tone, “come here; I am not going\r\nto ask you to do anything you would prefer not to do—I simply wish to\r\nspeak to you.”\r\n\r\nUpon this he noiselessly slid into view.\r\n\r\n“Will you tell me, Bartleby, where you were born?”\r\n\r\n“I would prefer not to.”\r\n\r\n“Will you tell me _anything_ about yourself?”\r\n\r\n“I would prefer not to.”\r\n\r\n“But what reasonable objection can you have to speak to me? I feel\r\nfriendly towards you.”\r\n\r\nHe did not look at me while I spoke, but kept his glance fixed upon my\r\nbust of Cicero, which, as I then sat, was directly behind me, some six\r\ninches above my head.\r\n\r\n“What is your answer, Bartleby,” said I, after waiting a considerable\r\ntime for a reply, during which his countenance remained immovable, only\r\nthere was the faintest conceivable tremor of the white attenuated\r\nmouth.\r\n\r\n“At present I prefer to give no answer,” he said, and retired into his\r\nhermitage.\r\n\r\nIt was rather weak in me I confess, but his manner, on this occasion,\r\nnettled me. Not only did there seem to lurk in it a certain calm\r\ndisdain, but his perverseness seemed ungrateful, considering the\r\nundeniable good usage and indulgence he had received from me.\r\n\r\nAgain I sat ruminating what I should do. Mortified as I was at his\r\nbehavior, and resolved as I had been to dismiss him when I entered my\r\noffice, nevertheless I strangely felt something superstitious knocking\r\nat my heart, and forbidding me to carry out my purpose, and denouncing\r\nme for a villain if I dared to breathe one bitter word against this\r\nforlornest of mankind. At last, familiarly drawing my chair behind his\r\nscreen, I sat down and said: “Bartleby, never mind, then, about\r\nrevealing your history; but let me entreat you, as a friend, to comply\r\nas far as may be with the usages of this office. Say now, you will help\r\nto examine papers to-morrow or next day: in short, say now, that in a\r\nday or two you will begin to be a little reasonable:—say so, Bartleby.”\r\n\r\n“At present I would prefer not to be a little reasonable,” was his\r\nmildly cadaverous reply.\r\n\r\nJust then the folding-doors opened, and Nippers approached. He seemed\r\nsuffering from an unusually bad night’s rest, induced by severer\r\nindigestion than common. He overheard those final words of Bartleby.\r\n\r\n“_Prefer not_, eh?” gritted Nippers—“I’d _prefer_ him, if I were you,\r\nsir,” addressing me—“I’d _prefer_ him; I’d give him preferences, the\r\nstubborn mule! What is it, sir, pray, that he _prefers_ not to do now?”\r\n\r\nBartleby moved not a limb.\r\n\r\n“Mr. Nippers,” said I, “I’d prefer that you would withdraw for the\r\npresent.”\r\n\r\nSomehow, of late, I had got into the way of involuntarily using this\r\nword “prefer” upon all sorts of not exactly suitable occasions. And I\r\ntrembled to think that my contact with the scrivener had already and\r\nseriously affected me in a mental way. And what further and deeper\r\naberration might it not yet produce? This apprehension had not been\r\nwithout efficacy in determining me to summary measures.\r\n\r\nAs Nippers, looking very sour and sulky, was departing, Turkey blandly\r\nand deferentially approached.\r\n\r\n“With submission, sir,” said he, “yesterday I was thinking about\r\nBartleby here, and I think that if he would but prefer to take a quart\r\nof good ale every day, it would do much towards mending him, and\r\nenabling him to assist in examining his papers.”\r\n\r\n“So you have got the word, too,” said I, slightly excited.\r\n\r\n“With submission, what word, sir,” asked Turkey, respectfully crowding\r\nhimself into the contracted space behind the screen, and by so doing,\r\nmaking me jostle the scrivener. “What word, sir?”\r\n\r\n“I would prefer to be left alone here,” said Bartleby, as if offended\r\nat being mobbed in his privacy.\r\n\r\n“_That’s_ the word, Turkey,” said I—“_that’s_ it.”\r\n\r\n“Oh, _prefer_? oh yes—queer word. I never use it myself. But, sir, as I\r\nwas saying, if he would but prefer—”\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 2"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG6YGB7ZZ4F251SWKNDDK547","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG6YDDF6PTWG4P7JTS5THSTD","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG6YCG626JN4FCG8QK17CQCF","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG6YH9P0ZF5KJ0VE9PCY690Y","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG6YH9P085RZP99C5W82DG56","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T07:57:56.800Z","ts":"2026-01-30T07:58:02.856Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}