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July 1972

Ripe from the Start

Subconsciously, he wanted to turn his will over to someone who would understand

ONE GRAY, dank March morning in I 955, I phoned to a stranger for help. Six months later, I called him again in alarm. "Stew, this thing is coming too easily, too painlessly, too happily. I'm on a pink cloud. I'm afraid all hell will break loose."

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