Herschel called me yesterday with the terrible news. I had been wondering about Harriett, for Francois Jacob had told me
you could not come to Columbia last October because of some obscure illness, but I had had no word since then.
How bereft you must feel! How impossible for me to offer any consolation: only my sympathy, the sharing of feeling, respect
and affection. I am so sorry.
What a time to send you my own news, which nothing else could have dampened. I am marrying by the time you receive this letter.
Her name is Marguerite Odette Stein, married as Kirsch. She was born French, her father killed in the FF1 just before the
end of the war; she came to the U.S. in 1946 as a girl of 10. Now she is a pediatrician: has a 3+ year old son. You will
learn more for yourself when next we meet.
You wrote me some wise and profoundly friendly words a year or so ago. I haven't forgotten.
Don't lose heart, Boris. More people than you can know share your grief, not only for what Harriett meant for them, but
for what you do too.