Side of himself he did not want to reveal. He was Hari Seldon mathematician not Hari Seldon sadistic twister. .

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Going to hand you a beer and hit you over the head . . . because THIS thud's for you! 'No ' he said. 'No more hitting. ' His hands shuffled on the carpet. He made an effort to open his eyes but a glue of drying blood had stuck them shut. 'You're dead. Both of you are dead. You can't hit me and you can't make me do things. Both of you are dead and I want to be dead too. ' But he wasn't dead. Somewhere beyond these phantom voices he could hear the whine of )et engines . . . and that other sound. The sound of the langoliers on the march. On the run. Craig. get up. You have to get up. He realized that it wasn't the voice of his father or of his mother either. That had only been his poor wounded mind trying to fool itself. This was a voice from . . . from (above?) some other place some high bright place where pain was a myth and pressure was a dream. Craig they've come to you - all the people you wanted to see..
disaster postpone empty rumpus contract place place contract contract