R. C. W. Ettinger

Summary

R. C. W. Ettinger The penultimate trump (1948)

H.D. Haworth pronounced a certain four-letter word. Garibaldi Jones cast his eyes to the heavens and tore his hair, coming away empty-handed, of course.
"Well, what's wrong with that?" Stevens snapped, a little color in his face. "Don't the people have a right to know?"
"Young man," quavered H.D., tottering to his feet and shaking the bony forefinger, "what you know about people I could stick in my—"
"Wait a minute, Mr. Haworth," Garry soothed. "Let me explain to Dr. Stevens how it is. Please don't excite yourself. Remember," he coaxed, "we don't want a heart attack now, do we?"
Source: Gutenberg

R. C. W. Ettinger The penultimate trump (1948)

The black-haired man, who would have been big by ordinary standards, was mopping his red face in a nervous gesture and the seven-foot giant who dwarfed him was stroking his platinum-blond beard.
H.D. stared at the giant gape-mouthed. He looks exactly like God, if God were in the shape of a man, he thought.
Source: Gutenberg

R. C. W. Ettinger The penultimate trump (1948)

Garry, on the other side now, called again.
"Take it as it comes, Mr. Haworth. It won't last forever, even if it seems like it. Son of a gun—said the wrong thing again, didn't I!"
H.D. screamed, "Appeal! Appeal the case!"
Garry sadly shook his head. "'There is no known deterrent from harmfully selfish action except fear of punishment. Nor can there be a healthy mind as long as there exists a debt to conscience.'"
The flyer was easing out into the night, toward that red star of evil.
Source: Gutenberg

Get perspective with Kwize: daily news enlightened by great literature