“At this moment it is the old days that I recall…” he began to say, but Fromm cut him short. “We don’t want to hear that stuff now. I ask you to stop talking and do something.” Beck did. He pulled the trigger, but the bullet merely scratched his head. He slumped into his chair, bleeding a little. “Help the old gentleman,” Fromm commanded two young officers, but when they tried to take the weapon Beck objected, asking for another chance. Fromm nodded his consent. Then he turned to the rest of the plotters. “And you gentlemen, if you have any letters to write I’ll give you a few more minutes.”
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