In his apartment overlooking Manhattan's Central Park, Abraham Feller sat nervously one morning last week, chatting with his wife. For two weeks he had been acting strangely, had even mentioned suicide. Mrs. Feller left him only momentarily to call the family doctor, then returned to the living room.
"I tried to cheer him up," she said later. "He was an idealist, and his whole life was devoted to the United Nations. He thought he wasn't doing his job well. He was a perfectionist."
Book on a Table. But before the doctor came, Abe Feller jumped to his feet. "It's no use,"...
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