 Who didn't William say strange things to?
For punishment, he locked me in a windowless room and told me to sit still until he came back. It wasn't so bad a punishment, except that when Dad closed the door, the light turned off and I was left there in the dark. One day, to prove me a liar, he opened and closed the door a few times from outside. Because they were real, I talked about them as if they were real, and I almost earned a bunk in the home for retarded children until I got smart enough to keep the beasts to myself. Partridge didn't seem to notice me, but I knew that was an act. Some skin-and-bones character I didn't know struggled out of his seat, amening. As soon as I got cleaned up, I was going to have dinner in a good restaurant, and I was going to order such expensive food and leave such a large tip for the waiter and send one to the chef that they were going to think I was rich, and some executive with some brokerage firm would see me and say to himself, "Hmm, executive material. I beg your pardon, sir—" just like the razor-blade comic-strip ads in the old magazines that Frankie the Pig sells three for a quarter. Even Partridge made his way down from the auctioneer's stand like a vulture with a busted wing and darted through his private door. "This," Brother Partridge said, "is one of the most profound experiences of my life."
 Partridge
 a man at the restaurant  his father  the librarian  Partridge