 Why did Charles think he was the last person alive?
There should be an epitaph for every man, big or little, but a really grand and special one for Loner Charlie. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A year ago she had been unattainable, a face to conjure with in erotic dreams, far beyond his ken. He touched buttons by the edge of the bed and the illumination quieted to a soft glow, wrapping her in a radiant halo. New York lay quietly below him. It was the hour of indecision when day has not quite made up its mind to leave and night has not yet attacked in force. To any man, WHO HAPPENED TO BE THE LAST MAN ON EARTH! I just don't know—" A paroxysm of sobbing shook his body. Trembling, he dropped to his knees, his head against the cold firmness of the sill, his hands clutched tightly around the jagged edges of the window pane. In spite of the sharp pain that raced through his system, in spite of the bright, warm, red stream that trickled down his face, he knelt by the window for several minutes. " On sudden impulse he switched it on, turned the volume up full, and in grim jest left it playing Rachmaninoff's Isle of the Dead on full automatic. Buildings were taller, men were healthier, most of the problems of humanity seemed licked, or nearly so. No wonder we called it the 'Proud Era.'
 He had some sort of immunity
 His sickness was taking longer  He had some sort of immunity  He was the reason for the plague  He was meant for greater things