A special presentation of all Henry's, the last leaf, a parable for Easter. This small district of New York attracted immigrants and artists like myself. The artists came hunting for north windows and 18th century gables and Dutch addicts. The immigrants came for the low rents. I lived on the top floor of a three story brick building with my sister Susan. On the floor beneath us lived another artist, Mr. Verlaine, an obstinate irritable old man. But beneath his crusty exterior, I knew a gentle and caring man, who for 50 years dreamed of painting his masterpiece, but could never put on canvas what was in his heart. In November, a cold unseen stranger called pneumonia brought fear and death through our small district, touching one here and one there with its icy fingers. It took for my sister's tiny frail body her immense love of life and finally even her will to live. I'm not going to let you go. Step back, stand back, get the man to the mayor. You know that. He's fine, missy, just a bit shaken. It's alright. Mr. Verlaine, it's not important. It is important. Why you shouldn't even be out in this weather? I have to be. Why? I'm working, carrying vegetables and fruits for Mr. Schlosser. He pays me a dollar. Can a dollar be worth more than your health? It is not just one dollar. To me, it is paints, canvas, brushes. Life before art, that's what you're always telling me. I'm going to go to Mr. Schlosser, you're coming home and you're going to get some rest. You promised you'd tell me about Rembrandt today. What shall we? We will talk about Rembrandt later. I have to finish my work. Got runny bull. Well, good enough for Eileen, brave. How is Susan today? Better, I hope. The doctors are here now. You need more lemons? Yes. Maybe a couple of oranges too. Mr. Schlosser, Mr. Verlaine has been working hard. Oh, that doomed cop. He makes me crazy. The only thing that's keeping him alive is that painting of his. Did the vines she carried apples for eight years to paint them on a laser? You forgot to wear this. What, we have all your sister with my compliments. Anyway, I give you your money now. Hey, you go home now. I have not finished my work. You are finished when I say you are finished. Now you do. No, no. Please, get him out of here. Okay. Here. Here. Here. Good. Well, you know what? This is paintbrush you struck to his hands. You can go along the whole house with them. I should do the same with my keys. I hope you get comfortable. No, no, no. I don't go after myself. You take care of your sister. Don't forget. You promised to tell me again of Paris and Rembrandt. Rembrandt. Rembrandt. Rembrandt. Rembrandt. You're now done. You're done. You're done. Oh, I see. I'm afraid she's no better. What are you going to do? I know the power of medicine against pneumonia. And I know the power of one's will. That little lady is made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Susan's 14 years old, doctor. She doesn't want to die. I'll look in on her in the morning. Give that to the drugist and give her sponge baths about a rehab hour through the night. Good day, Miss Brady. They're falling faster now. Three days ago, it made my headache to count them all. There was so many. Now it's easy. I'm going to get a little bit of a headache. Now it's easy. They go together. And now they're only seven left. Only seven left. Leave soon. The window's three away last night. It's an odd sense.