[Pozarica-joel] hey milled about him as he st

[Diga]

R, of course, did I. And none of us had ever been in the laboratory,
except that when occasion offered we stole surreptitious peeps. I recall
Dr. Kent as a kindly, iron-gray haired gentleman. He was stern with the
discipline of his children; but he loved them, and was indulgent in many
ways. They loved him; and I, an orphan, began looking upon him almost as
a father. I was interested in chemistry. He knew it, and did his best to
help and encourage me in my studies. There came an afternoon in the
summer of 1966, when arriving at the Kent home, I ran upon a startling
scene. The only other member of the household was a young fellow of
twenty-five, named Franz Polter. He was a foreigner, born, I understood,
in one of the Balkan Protectorates; he was here, employed by Dr. Kent as
laboratory assistant. He had been with the Kents, at this time, two
years. Alan and Babs didn't like him, nor did I. He must have been a
clever, skillful chemist. No doubt he 
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