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COPYRIGHT 2003 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
The air in Midge Decter's apartment last week was not particularly humid. Decter herself, sitting on her living-room sofa in a blue wool turtleneck, black pants, and tennis shoes, appeared cool and dry. She sat with her legs crossed and her right hand wedged between her thighs. Every now and again, she removed the hand and fiddled with the neck of her sweater. There was no sign, in other words, that she had only recently emerged from the composition of a sweaty new book about the secretary of defense, "Rumsfeld." She spoke of her subject admiringly, but without obvious emotion. "The key to him is that he is a wrestler," she said. "A wrestler is a lone figure. He battles one on one, and he...
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