Henrik Drescher
"Early one morning, 50 years ago today, while his wife, Mary, slept upstairs, Ernest Hemingway went into the vestibule of his Ketchum, Idaho, house, selected his favorite shotgun from the rack, inserted shells into its chambers and ended his life.
There were many differing explanations at the time: that he had terminal cancer or money problems, that it was an accident, that he’d quarreled with Mary. None were true."
By A. E. HOTCHNER NYTimes.com/continue reading
2 comments:
Such a sad story, It's like they say, you may be paranoid, but it doesn't mean they aren't out to get you.
Yes it's a sad story,but for me personally is also very interesting , because I worked many years as a nurse in a psychiatric clinic.
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