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Still, what may be missed most is the companionship of the manual machine that was attached not to the wall by electric cord, but solely to oneself. There it sat, that Smith-Corona, waiting patiently for you to get hold of yourself, seize an idea, find a right word. Then you went at it together, two stained, tired antiques of the future, giving and taking, the way friends are supposed to. The times you stayed up all night, the sweat on the keys, the sigh of accomplishment at something furnished famished finished. —By Roger Rosenblatt