I did not want Merrick ta live by himself, like a man in a lighthouse. He read his books, and talked to me, but
I wanted him to talk to more people. And I wanted him to talk ta women.
Merrick read about women in his books, but he did not often talk ta women. He met the nurses every day,
but they did not talk to him very much. For them, he was always a creature, not a man.
One day, one of my friends, a beautiful young woman, came to the hospital. I told her about Merrick,
and took her to his room. She opened the door, and smiled a t him.
'Good morning, Mr. Merrick,' she said. Then she shook his hand.
Merrick looked at her for a minute with his mouth open. Then he sat down on his bed, with his head in his
hand, and cried. He cried for nearly five minutes. The tears ran down his face, between his fingers, and onto
the floor