Abstract
Valery Galendeyev seemed immortal, so steady was his demeanour, so light his ample frame. We knew that he had had serious Covid early in the pandemic but his habitual warmth and gentle irony belied his health’s decline as he continued to work as if it would never stop. He understood, though, that, sooner rather than later, his growing ill heath, which he discreetly set aside, would stop him.
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