IF SHERLEY BENTLEY THE WOMAN WHO CAME EACH NIGHT TO SIT ON THE FLOOR BY HIS BEDSIDE DID NOT APPEAR AT ONCE HE WENT TO THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS AND SHOUTED HIS YOUNG VOICE RINGING THROUGH THE NARROW HALLS WHERE FOR SO LONG THERE HAD BEEN A TRADITION OF SILENCE IN THE MORNING WHEN HE AWOKE AND LAY STILL IN BED