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Fantasy Fiction Telegram, v. 1, issue 3, December 1936
Page 18
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FANTASY FICTION TELEGRAM somewhere in the vincinity of high noon. With fear in his eye he glanced toward the atomic machine to assure himself that the whole thing was not merely a dream or a figment of his imagination. Not waiting to breakfast, he again placed a lump of lead in the casket-like little box. Again he watched lambant flame play over metal. At this moment, a minute hole, not larger than a pin-point appeared in the side of the box, doubtless some flaw in Svenson's faulty material, thrown into exageration by the energy. From the pin-point a flash of energy flamed into Svenson's face. He sank down unconsious. Above him, on the table, the casket flamed to incandescence unattended. There was an earsplitting detonation. ********** "Yep," said Smith, the village grocer, to a visitor from the city, "and when Jack, our boy, took the next load of food down, the whole [blame?] hill on 'ich the Mansion stood was gone, clean as a whistle. So we town folks jus figured that the big boom we heard was his goin' and gettin' himself blown sky-high." "He must have been foolin' around with explosives. Dangerous." said the visitor, shaking his head. "Well, I got to be goin' now. G'by." ********** And thus perished Roger Svenson with his wonderful swcret forever entombed in the wilderness surrounding the "Mansion." -------------THE END------------- WATCH FOR THE JANUARY ISSUE OF THE FFT. IT WILL FEATURE MANY INTERESTING FEATURES. --------------------------------- (Page 18)
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FANTASY FICTION TELEGRAM somewhere in the vincinity of high noon. With fear in his eye he glanced toward the atomic machine to assure himself that the whole thing was not merely a dream or a figment of his imagination. Not waiting to breakfast, he again placed a lump of lead in the casket-like little box. Again he watched lambant flame play over metal. At this moment, a minute hole, not larger than a pin-point appeared in the side of the box, doubtless some flaw in Svenson's faulty material, thrown into exageration by the energy. From the pin-point a flash of energy flamed into Svenson's face. He sank down unconsious. Above him, on the table, the casket flamed to incandescence unattended. There was an earsplitting detonation. ********** "Yep," said Smith, the village grocer, to a visitor from the city, "and when Jack, our boy, took the next load of food down, the whole [blame?] hill on 'ich the Mansion stood was gone, clean as a whistle. So we town folks jus figured that the big boom we heard was his goin' and gettin' himself blown sky-high." "He must have been foolin' around with explosives. Dangerous." said the visitor, shaking his head. "Well, I got to be goin' now. G'by." ********** And thus perished Roger Svenson with his wonderful swcret forever entombed in the wilderness surrounding the "Mansion." -------------THE END------------- WATCH FOR THE JANUARY ISSUE OF THE FFT. IT WILL FEATURE MANY INTERESTING FEATURES. --------------------------------- (Page 18)
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