_It had taken him ten years to find them--to even convince himself that they existed. Now Manson was ready to_ kill! He left his gyro on the dark lawn and circled the villa, carefully avoiding the wash of light from open windows. The blast gun lay snug and cold in his hand, and his thought ran bleakly: _Here am I, Peter Manson, pacifist, idealist, reformer, preacher in print of tolerance and amity--about to kidnap a man whom I shall almost certainly kill before morning._…
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