Preston had been my predecessor. He had lost his hold on reality like
all the others before him who had served long as warden of Dreamland.
A few had quit while they were still ahead and spent the rest of their
lives recuperating. Our society didn't produce individuals tough enough
to stand the strain of putting their fellow human beings to sleep for
long.
One of Keller's men had stabbed Horbit's arm with a hypospray to
blanket the pain from his broken wrist, and the man was quieter.
"I couldn't have done it, Warden," Horbit mumbled drowsily. "I couldn't
kill anybody. Unless it was like that other time."
"Of course, Eddie," I said.