I tried to pick the third option, which was listening to Mr. Scratch awkwardly work his way around my circulatory system, which he clearly thought inferior to flowing between paper signatures. It’s similar, I think, he was saying, from the inside of the top of my head. You’ve got a spine. And skin—plenty of devils have books made of skin. It’s usually stretched and shaved, and very flat, and without any blood. But it’s similar enough. It’s very nice in here, really. He hated it. Clearly, he hated it. Better than him loving it a lot, I guess.
