It's the winter of 1993. A cold, snowy day. Windy. A blizzard. The phone rings. I'm not on call for my patients today — except for one. Daisy has been in my care since the early 1970s, and given the risk that she may suffer a serious downturn, I've instructed her nursing home to call me whenever necessary. This is that call. Daisy, my dear lady, the old artist, is dying. Throughout her ...

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