he was the only living writer I ever met who I truly
admired and he was dying when I met
him.
(we in this game are shy on praise even toward
those who do it very well, but I never had this
problem with C.B.)
I visited him several times at the
hospital (there was never anybody else
about) and upon entering his room
I was never sure if he was asleep
or?

"Charles?"

he was stretched there on that bed, pale
and all bone:
advanced
leukemia.

"Charles it's
Frank ..."

he...