"Why don't you let me cure you?"
"First you have to convince me I'm sick."
"That's true."
They talked aimlessly for another half-hour. Cooper left, and Westing looked over the literature.
He started to throw it away. Then his conscience twinged. If he was going to fight this thing, he was going to fight it honestly. He would meet their techniques of persuasion, not evade them.
He sat down and read all the pamphlets. The Need to Belong. The Sense of Unity. Testimonials from members of the Organization who had found salvation in its ranks. It was all very well done and rather weakening to a man with a hangover.
He sat for a long time in his apartment, brooding over it. Then he got up and threw all the literature in the trash.
"They'll have to do better than that," he said.
The next evening, when he got back from work, he found a package in his mail. It was a long-play, high-fidelity Calypso record. The notice said it was a Get-Acquainted Gift from the Jamaican Record Society.