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medical doctor, a Ph.D., a painter, knows how to speak 8-9 languages (including [[strikethrough]] spea [[/strikethrough]] Sanskrit!), is a Muslim, and lives like a Pasha, (all the while complaining how broke he is and seizing fees; but he is undercharging us greatly in the knowledge of our relative poverty). He helps out unorthodox cases and knows his ceiling and phone are bugged. He is also cleaning up Dean's injury in a very thorough fashion, and yesterday taught me exactly how to care for it at home so as to cut down on our necessary visits to him.

I have re-rented a typewriter and begun revision, with Dean's constant critical comments on each section. He still has not resumed writing but probably will soon, since the pain is just about gone. He will not require a skin graft (Met Hospital threatened one, and they take off your skin without anesthesia!), our doctor says; new, healthy skin is growing back fast now.

That is about all. Except...I lost the letter giving the Patent Office address in the mess of paper in this apartment. Would you send it again? I have a really good idea to patent.

Love,
Doris