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The Book of Tells (Peter Collett)[unlocked]

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THE BOOK OF TELLS<br />

the speaker does to the listener. A listener who's retreating<br />

in this way does not represent a threat to the talkative<br />

speaker because she's not after the speaker role. However,<br />

in order to secure his occupancy <strong>of</strong> the speaker role, the<br />

speaker sometimes needs to make sure that the listener<br />

remains in hers. Sometimes this can be done physically.<br />

For example, during the nineteenth century, the conversational<br />

practice <strong>of</strong> 'button-holding' (or 'button-holing')<br />

was widespread - the speaker would grab hold <strong>of</strong> a button<br />

on the listener's coat in order to get his attention and stop<br />

him getting away. <strong>The</strong> English essayist, Charles Lamb,<br />

provides a slightly exaggerated description <strong>of</strong> the<br />

practice:<br />

I was going from my house in Enfield to the India-house<br />

one morning, and was hurrying, for I was late, when I met<br />

Coleridge, on his way to pay me a visit; he was brimful <strong>of</strong><br />

some new idea and, in spite <strong>of</strong> my assuring him that time<br />

was precious, he drew me within the door <strong>of</strong> an unoccupied<br />

garden by the road-side, and there, sheltered<br />

from observation by a hedge <strong>of</strong> evergreens, he took me by<br />

the button <strong>of</strong> my coat, and closing his eyes commenced an<br />

eloquent discourse, waving his right hand gently, as the<br />

musical words flowed in an unbroken stream from his lips.<br />

I listened entranced; but the striking <strong>of</strong> the church recalled<br />

me to a sense <strong>of</strong> duty. I saw it was <strong>of</strong> no use to attempt to<br />

break away so, taking advantage <strong>of</strong> his absorbtion in his<br />

subject, I, with my penknife, quietly severed the button<br />

from my coat and decamped. Five hours afterwards, in<br />

passing the same garden, on my way home, I heard<br />

Coleridge's voice, and on looking in, there he was, with<br />

eyes closed, - the button in his fingers, - and his right hand<br />

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