20Monday dawned to another cold late April drizzle. A phone call from Dr. Rothstein made the morning even bleaker.
"I have some... unhappy news to share. There's no point in hedging. Mr. Earl De Young has brain cancer. And it is terminal, I'm afraid. An educated estimate gives him about sixty days. He will begin to show a marked decline in his overall health any time, which will worsen until the end. We will probably have to admit him into Princeton Hospital very soon for the sole purpose of keeping him comfortable, unless you know anyone else who would be willing to take him in. Mr. De Young himself asked that you be informed."
Bob Millson sighed. "I guess that explains the... hallucinations."
"Perhaps," was Dr. Rothstein's cryptic reply.
After disconnecting from the doctor, the minis
