They were not far wrong. The first direct hit on the Neurological Research Laboratory killed one of the two leading scientists and provoked a seious mental breakdown in the other. Irascible Kenneth Wicks was from honest, working-class stock, a drayman in the brewery. After one such, driving home, he stopped at favourite spot in the forest, only to find a decrepit figure profaning the sacred spot, begging the price of a drink. When Kenneth had taken his hands from the man's throat the wretch was dead.
Guilt does strange things to a man.
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