When my father died Richard lost his "kindest and severest critic" as he also lost one of his very closest friends and companions.
During the short illness that preceded my brother's death, although quite unconscious that the end was so near, his thoughts constantly turned back to the days of his home in Philadelphia, and he got out the letters which as a boy and as a young man he had written to his family.
After reading a number of them he said: "I know now why we were such a happy It was because we were always, all of us, of the same age.".