I went back to my old office and fo

I went back to my old office and found Bartleby sitting on the empty floor.
“Bartleby, one of two things must happen. I will get you a different job, or you can go to work for some other lawyer.”
He said he did not like either choice.
“Bartleby, will you come home with me and stay there until we decide what you will do?”
He answered softly, “No, I do not want to make any changes.”
I answered nothing more. I fled. I rode around the city and visited places of historic interest, anything to get Bartleby off my mind.
When I entered my office later, I found a message for me. Bartleby had been taken to prison.
I found him there, and when he saw me he said: “I know you, and I have nothing to say to you.”
“But I didn’t put you here, Bartleby.” I was deeply hurt. I told him I gave the prison guard money to buy him a good dinner.
“I do not want to eat today, he said. I never eat dinner.”
Days passed, and I went to see Bartleby again. I was told he was sleeping in the prison yard outside.
Sleeping? The thin Bartleby was lying on the cold stones. I stooped to look at the small man lying on his side with his knees against his chest. I walked closer and looked down at him. His eyes were open. He seemed to be in a deep sleep.
“Won’t he eat today, either, or does he live without eating?” the guard asked.
“Lives without eating,” I answered…and closed his eyes.
“Uh…he is asleep isn’t he?” the guard said.
“With kings and lawyers,” I answered.
One little story came to me some days after Bartleby died. I learned he had worked for many years in the post office. He was in a special office that opened all the nation’s letters that never reach the person they were written to. It is called the dead letter office. The letters are not written clearly, so the mailmen cannot read the addresses.
Well, poor Bartleby had to read the letters, to see if anyone’s name was written clearly so they could be sent. Think of it. From one letter a wedding ring fell, the finger it was bought for perhaps lies rotting in the grave. Another letter has money to help someone long since dead. Letters filled with hope for those who died without hope.
Poor Bartleby! He himself had lost all hope. His job had killed something inside him.
Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!
(MUSIC)
ANNOUNCER: You have heard an AMERICAN STORY called "Bartleby." It was written by Herman Melville. Your storyteller was Shep O’Neal. This is Shirley Griffith.

Kết quả (Anh) 1:

I went back to my old office and found Bartleby sitting on the empty floor. "Bartleby, one of two things must happen. I will get you a different job, or you can go to work for some other lawyer. "He said he did not like either choice. "Bartleby, you will come home with me and stay there until we decide what you will do?"He answered softly, "No, I do not want to make any changes."I answered nothing more. I fled. I rode around the city and visited places of historic interest, anything to get Bartleby off my mind. When I entered my office later, I found a message for me. Bartleby had been taken to prison. I found him there, and when he saw me he said: "I know you, and I have nothing to say to you.""But I didn't put you here, Bartleby." I was deeply hurt. I told him I gave the prison guard money to buy him a good dinner."I do not want to eat today, he said. I never eat dinner. "Days passed, and I went to see Bartleby again. I was told he was sleeping in the prison yard outside. Sleeping? The thin Bartleby was lying on the cold stones. I stooped to look at the small man lying on his side with his knees against his chest. I walked closer and looked down at him. His eyes were open. He seemed to be in a deep sleep."Won't he eat today, either, or does he live without eating?" the guard asked."Lives without eating," I answered ... and closed his eyes."Uh ... he is asleep isn't he?" the guard said. "With kings and lawyers," I answered. One little story came to me some days after Bartleby died. I learned he had worked for many years in the post office. He was in a special office that opened all the nation's letters that never reach the person they were written to. It is called the dead letter office. The letters are not written clearly, so the mailmen cannot read the addresses. Well, poor Bartleby had to read the letters, to see if anyone's name was written clearly so they could be sent. Think of it. From one letter, a wedding ring fell, the finger it was bought for perhaps lies rotting in the grave. Another letter has money to help someone long since dead. Letters filled with hope for those who died without hope. Poor Bartleby! He himself had lost all hope. His job had killed something inside him. Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!(MUSIC)ANNOUNCER: You have heard an AMERICAN STORY called "Bartleby." It was written by Herman Melville. Your storyteller was Shep O'Neal. This is Shirley Griffith.

Kết quả (Anh) 2:

I Went back to my old office and found Bartleby sitting on the empty floor.
"Bartleby, one of two things happen phải. I will get you a different job, or you can go to work for some other lawyer. "
He said he did not like hoặc choice.
" Bartleby, will you come home with me and stay there sẽ đến chúng decide what you do? "
He answered softly, "No, I do not want to make any changes."
I answered nothing more. I fled. I rode around the city and visited places of historic interest, anything to get my mind off Bartleby.
When I gõ my office later, I found a message for me. Had Been taken to prison Bartleby.
I found him there, and he saw me he said khi: "I know you, and I have nothing to say to you."
"But I did not put you here, Bartleby." I was deeply hurt. I Told him I Gave money to buy the prison guard, photographing a good dinner.
"I do not want to eat today, he said. I never eat dinner. "
Days passed, and I Went to see Bartleby again. I was Told he was sleeping in the prison yard outside.
Sleeping? The thin Bartleby was lying on the cold stones. I stooped to look at the small man lying on his side with his knees Against HIS chest. I walked closer and Looked down at him. His eyes open là. He Seemed to be in a deep sleep.
"Will not he eat today, hoặc, or does he live without eating?" Asked the guard.
"Lives without eating," I answered ... and closed his eyes.
"Uh ... he is asleep is not he? "the guard said.
" With kings and lawyers, "I answered.
One little story to me some days Came Died after Bartleby. I worked for many Had he Learned years in the post office. He was in a special office opened all the nation's có letters That Never Reach the person They were ghi. It is the dead letter office gọi. The letters are not ghi Clearly, over the mailmen can not read the addresses.
Well, poor Bartleby Had to read the letters, to see if anyone's name was compared chúng Clearly Written speaker could be sent. Think of it. One letter from a wedding ring Fell, the finger it was perhaps' Bought for lies rotting in the grave. Another letter has money to help someone of long since dead. Letters filled with hope for Those Who Died without hope.
Poor Bartleby! Had he lost all hope Himself. His job Killed Had something inside him.
Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!
(MUSIC)
Announcer: You have Heard an gọi AMERICAN STORY "Bartleby." It was Herman Melville bởi. Your storyteller was Shep O'Neal. This is Shirley Griffith.