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Then, after checking the window-shielding and activating the outside viewscreens, he lit a cheroot and sat down at the desk, his goblet and his needler in front of him, to wait until the servants were gone. There was only one way out alive. He knew that, and yet he needed brandy, and a great deal of mental effort, to steel himself for it. Psycho-rehabilitation was a dreadful thing to face.
"Not as much as he claims to, I suppose; he wouldn't want to reduce his own trade-in value. But he's been involved in this thing for the last fifteen years, and with his political prominence, he'd know quite a lot." "We can protect him from his own gang; can we protect him from psycho-rehabilitation?" "No, and he knows it. He's willing to accept that.
"You understand that this confession renders you liable to psycho-rehabilitation?" Tortha Karf asked. Yes, Councilman Salgath understood that. "And you agree to come voluntarily to Paratime Police Headquarters, and you will voluntarily undergo narco-hypnotic interrogation?" Yes, Salgath Trod agreed to that.
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