"No more."

"And what is the reason?"

"Do you not see the reason for yourself," he indifferently replied.

I looked steadfastly at him, and perceived that his eyes looked dull and
glazed. Instantly it occurred to me, that his unexampled diligence in
copying by his dim window for the first few weeks of his stay with me
might have temporarily impaired his vision.

I was touched. I said something in condolence with him. I hinted that
of course he did wisely in abstaining from writing for a while; and
urged him to embrace that opportunity of taking wholesome exercise in
the open air. This, however, he did not do. A few days after this, my
other clerks being absent, and being in a great hurry to dispatch
certain letters by the mail, I thought that, having nothing else earthly
to do, Bartleby would surely be less inflexible than usual, and carry
these letters to the post-office. But he blankly declined. So, much to
my inconvenience, I went myself.

Still added days went by. Whether Bartleby's eyes improved or not, I
could not say. To all appearance, I thought they did. But when I asked
him if they did, he vouchsafed no answer. At all events, he would do no
copying. At last, in reply to my urgings, he informed me that he had
permanently given up copying.

"What!" exclaimed I; "suppose your eyes should get entirely well--better
than ever before--would you not copy then?"