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The Plagiarist From Rigel IV

by Evan Hunter

The typewriter didn't seem to care much. It didn't form a single word. I threw the carriage all the way to the right, stalked to the closet and slammed my rainy-day hat onto my head, even though it wasn't raining. At the door, I shot a hot glance at the machine, and then walked out, slamming the flimsy wood behind me.