When the injunction was issued, it contained provisions which might make Harvard and Radcliffe women hesitate before rushing to join the occupiers: even supplying food and bedding was illegal.

At the same time, however, the University refrained from identifying and punishing those students who could be identified, hoping that they would fall away in time. Quiet pressure was applied to some.

Now, in the massive memorandum, Cox forcefully presents the image of a man at the end of his patience. A police raid, he implies, is becoming less and less avoidable.

Cox clearly feels that the University cannot give in: the precedent might lead to a rash of seizures by groups angered at University policies, presenting him with an even more difficult choice.

But Cox also realizes that a police raid on the "Liberated Women's Center" could turn into a bloody nightmare which might leave dozens injured and the University in turmoil.

He may mean it: police may have raided 888 Memorial Drive before these words can be printed and delivered to your door. But there is also a chance that Cox, suspended between the memories of Lawrence Hall and University Hall, may be hoping that the situation will resolve itself without the awful decision.