3.

On the Sunday that the narrator happens to stop by the office, he discovers that Bartleby is living in the office. Some of his reasons for being shocked are typical. He is uneasy as to what Bartleby could be doing at that time, curious, and suspicious. But some of his most interesting reflections fall upon the office and its location; he is moved by the solitude that is implied by living on Wall Street. "Of a Sunday, Wall Street is deserted as Petra, and every night of every day it is an emptiness. This building, too, which of weekdays hums with industry and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer vacancy, and all through Sunday is forlorn (17)." The isolation of the Financial District and the office echoes Bartleby's strange and private loneliness. The view from one of the windows "might have been considered rather tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscape painters call 'life' (4)," while the other view is simply of brick walls. Bartleby himself is described as pale, "pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn (9)." Like the view, he is devoid of liveliness.