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again and again and again then put both his hands around its throat and squeezed and twisted as his voice growled in his throat and his stomach knotted. Then he flung it against the wall and leaped after it and punched it back to the bed and pinned it with his left hand around its throat against the mattress and pounded and pounded the face into a pulp then raised it above his head and slammed it against the wall and punched it against another wall but his fists kept sinking into his pillow, meeting no resistance, so he pinned it again to the mattress and pounded and pounded hearing his fist thud and thud and thud over and over and over again and again into his pillow.
    Then he stopped and looked at it with disgust and flipped it to the other end of the bed with the back of his hand. He was panting, but his stomach and chest were loosening. The bastards. The rotten, fucking bastards. His breathing slowed and he reached down and grabbed his pillow, jammed it into a ball and stuck it behind his head and stretched out on the bed. He let his eyes close when they wanted to and then he put his arm over his eyes. He squirmed his head into his balled pillow, while the deepening gray soothed his eyes. He rested.
    He was sitting in the courtroom with Stacey Lowry. He was well-dressed and confident. When his case was called he followed hisattorney to the counsel table. He stood erect and calm as the charges were read, pleaded not guilty, then sat and listened as the preliminary hearing proceeded. The opening formalities flowed smoothly and quickly. When the prosecution finished questioning the first witness, one of the arresting officers, Stacey Lowry rose and walked halfway to the witness stand. He only questioned the officer for a few minutes, his voice smooth and moderate at all times. When the witness had been dismissed he addressed the court and asked for a dismissal of the charges, citing the State v Rubens (1958; 173,20.5). The motion was granted and he followed his attorney from the courtroom.
    They were joined by Donald Preston in the corridor and they shook each others hand. Preston put his arm around his shoulder and asked him how it felt to be free. Frankly, its a little bit bewildering. It all happened so fast. Its hard to believe its all over.
    They sat at a rear table in a quiet and dignified restaurant. It was a small room off the main dining room and the walls were oak paneled. The linen was white and sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows. He was naturally excited, yet had no trouble retaining his composure. When their cocktails were served they toasted their success and their forthcoming campaign. He smiled and said he would drink to that and they all laughed. Then Preston congratulated him on his courage, and his responsive smile was filled with humility.
    As they sat in Prestons impressive office he tinkled the ice in his drink from time to time. He felt completely at ease and energetically discussed the forthcoming campaign. He was most anxious to hear their plans and to offer his suggestions. Now that the legal formalities were over his mind was formulating ideas with concrete clarity.
    As I mentioned previously, one of my reporters, one of the best, was at the hearing and is writing a report of it. When he is finished he will come up here and interview you. It wont be too long, just long enough to enable him to give our readers your thoughts and reactions. The actual reportage will appear in tomorrows paper and the interview will be in the Sunday Supplement.As I say, it wont be too long, just 2 or 3 pages. You see, we do not want to hit the public with everything at once. If we do they will tire of it too quickly (he nodded in agreement) and we will lose their enthusiasm. In between there will be a statement by me – a manifesto if you will – explaining the campaign and its purpose. This naturally will be followed up at least 2 or 3 times a week with something new, and hard-hitting, on the subject. In