
It was very peculiar, thought Keating. Toohey was asking him a great many questions about Howard Roark. But the questions did not make sense. They were not about buildings, they were not about architecture at all. They were pointless personal questions — strange to ask about a man of whom he had never heard before.
“Does he laugh often?”
“Very rarely.”
“Does he seem unhappy?”
“Never.”
“Did he have many friends at Stanton?”
“He’s never had any friends anywhere.”
“The boys didn’t like him?”
“Nobody can like him.”
“Why?”
“He makes you feel it would be an impertinence to like him.”
“Did he go out, drink, have a good time?”
“Never.”
“Does he like money?”
“No.”
“Does he like to be admired?”
“No.”
“Does he believe in God?”
“No.”
“Does he talk much?”
“Very little.”
“Does he listen if others discuss any … ideas with him?”
“He listens. It would be better if he didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It would be less insulting — if you know what I mean, when a man listens like that and you know it hasn’t made the slightest bit of difference to him.”

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