But it was a giant, dim foreboding holding dominion over other men's lives, and it sent a train of chilly-weakness through his blood. "It's a habit of mine," said Jerry Strann, "to kill mad dogs when I see 'em." And he smiled again. They stood for another long instant, facing each other. It was plain that every muscle in Strann's body was growing tense; the very smile was frozen on his lips.