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Of what would an analysis consist if one of its essential elements were compromised? How does the need to protect our patients' confidentiality deform our communications and, conversely, how does the need to discuss patients deform their treatment relationships? Could we ever be sure that we would recognize the difference between analysis and fiction? What is this thing we easily label “confidentiality,” yet about which we have an uneasy consensus? And can we be sure of the answers we give ourselves?