Vexed by his losses at Monte Carlo, an indignant player in sleek evening clothes rose from one of the roulette tables last week, extracted a hand grenade from his tailcoat pocket, tossed it onto the wheel where the little ball spun, then quickly made his escape amid panic.
Screams of terror were silenced by the concussion. Followed the tinkling crash of an immense chandelier. Casino attendants rushed in to count the dead, succor the wounded. By what amounted to a miracle nobody had been so much as scratched. In a half-hour the demolished...
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