What's dying inside of David Selig -- seedy metropolitan neurotic, fortyish, who tailors term papers for his student clients -- is his power to penetrate minds. Only an odd trio (a girl, sister Judith, a fellow giftee) know about it, all revealed in a series of funny-to-terrifying flashback exercises in ESP, supplemented with fanciful discourse on the dying of the light, akin to dwindling middle-age input. Silverberg is still breasting the headwaters of speculative fiction and much of the tension and excitement of his other work has gone under. Slow.