a strange greeting, a true feeling last week i was invited to a doctor’s meeting at the ruth hospital for incurables. in one of the wards a patient, an old man, got up shakily from his bed and moved towards me. i could see that he hadn't long to 1 , but he came up to me and placed his right foot close mine on the floor.
“frank！” i cried in astonishment. he couldn’t 2 , as i knew, but all the time 3 his foot against mine.
my 4 raced back more than thirty years to the 5 days of 1941, when i was a student in london. the 6 was an air-raid shelter, in which i and about hundred other people slept every night. two of the regulars were mrs. west and her son frank.
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