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the induced convulsion which mercifully ablated the memory for recent events, but it hardly seemed a great breakthrough and peace at the price of electroshock or with all their danger & indignity supplemented by massive doses of palliatives seemed at least as cynical as Dr X's lust for tongue. (And) I regret that when, still a good many years later, I heard that Dr. X was in one of the VA hospitals not expected to recover, and that he invited all friends who wished, to visit him - that I didn't knock on his door. I could well have asked for that room number from the receptionist, taken the automatic elevator up to his floor and, in response to the cheerful 'Come in!', pushed the door partly open and found the bulbous cranium, perhaps altered, aged, on the bed or in the chair by the window. And then I could have said, "You invited your old friends to come and pay you a visit. Many of them who would have wanted to come are dead, as you know. How many of our old associates have disappeared! But I could come and I'm