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would say, “Tell your father there isn't any more.” That's the way Jill grew up. And in spite of it all, a more normal, lovely woman than Jill today doesn't exist. She came out of this completely unscathed; still talks about Bill as Pappy. It always startled me--this little girl saying “Pappy.” About William Faulkner, the great American novelist.

I could tell you stories about Bill by the hour, because I've written so much about him. I was with him coming home from a literary party in Brooklyn Heights once. There wasn't a taxi in sight so we came home on the subway. Bill's feet hurt, and he took his shoes off. When we rose to get off at 59th Street, he couldn't find one shoe, and I still remember the picture of the great William Faulkner crawling on all fours the length of a subway car to find the shoe that had been kicked way down to the other end. It was late at night--there were only about ten people in the car. That was when the subways were still safe. There weren't hooligans and muggers on the trains.

We once sent Bill down to the Southern Writers‘conference in Richmond. He was representing Random House, and Ellen Glasgow was the hostess. Just before he left, I begged, “Now, Bill, remember you're representing us. This is an important Southern Writers‘conference; and you yourself are now famous. Please behave yourself!”

He was very hurt that I would say this, but we heard later that when he arrived Ellen Glasgow was standing at the receiving line with a bunch of American Beauty roses in her