"More," the dry voice says, and we repeat the procedure. This time she does manage to swallow some liquid and weakly says, "Thank, you." She is too weak for conversation, so without asking, I go about providing for her needs. Picking her up in my arms like a child, I turn her on her side. Naked, except for a light hospital gown, she is so very small and light that she seems like a victim of some terrible famine. I remove the lid from a jar of skin cream and put some on the palm of my hand. Carefully, to avoid injuring her, I rub cream into the yellow skin, which rolls freely over the bones, feeling perfectly the outline of each bone in the back.