All that had been distilled from the curious vegetation of the doomed planetoid was half an ounce, a mere timbleful of blue liquor. But it was enough to drive a universe mad. The martian servant stopped at my desk, coughed faintly to attract my attention. I looked up and he handed me a calling card on which was printed "Slane O'Graeme." It was a limp, thumb-marked and discouraged-looking emissary.…
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