* * * * *
Bent over his desk, the Dictator struggled to compose a speech to the
people--one that would reassure, enhearten, inflame the blackening
coals of hope.
He wrote: "There is nothing to fear but fear. A way will be found...."
He scowled at the shaky hand-writing of the last line, scratched it out
angrily and began again.
"A way will be found...." But his fingers twitched convulsively with
the pen, and the sentence trailed into a senseless scrawl.
* * * * *
The truck swung round and lurched to a halt not far from the road, and
they saw that there would be no grave--only a stretch of wild, rank
weeds in a wet meadow.
"So," said Joseph Euge in the same weary monotone, "there will be an
end of man--unless somewhere on Earth are found men without fear."
He flinched from the prodding bayonet of a frightened man in a terrible
mask, and stumbled stiffly to his feet.