Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist - Alexander Berkman

"Yes, Aleck."

"Worse? Tell me, Frank."

"He is dead. Bear up, Aleck. His last thought was of you. He was unconscious all afternoon, but just before the end—it was 9.33—he sat up in bed so suddenly, he frightened me. His arm shot out, and he cried, 'Good bye, Aleck.'"