André Spiegel

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At dinner, he sat at the head of the happy, noisy table and pretended to eat, although he was long past being able to take sufficient food to get proper nourishment. Every two hours during the course of the long evening, he agonizingly dragged himself into the kitchen so that Carolyn might give him a shot of morphine to control his pain.
How We Die: Reflections on Life's Final Chapter
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