John D. MacDonald

Step by step, Dwight McAran built a wall of vicious hate around himself. It was easy. He was a man who could slap one woman to death because she loved him, and hum a love song to another while he raped her. Sure, he did some time in jail. He sat in a cell and simmered for five long years until his hate hardened to a core of white-hot evil. Revenge was all he craved - and a plan was what he had - a plan just cruel enough to please him, and just crazy enough to work.

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