Dear Will, Here we are, you and I, languishing in our hospitals. You have your pain and I am without my books—the learned Dr. Chilton has seen to that. We live in a primitive time—don’t we, Will?—neither savage nor wise. Half measures are the curse of it. Any rational society would either kill me or give me my books. I wish you a speedy convalescence and hope you won’t be very ugly. I think of you often. Hannibal Lecter
