"Listen to me. Have you gone completely mad? I am alive and uninjured. Can't you see that?" He shouted.

"Olof Palmer is dead. He has been murdered," shouted a journalist.

"Damn you all. Get out of here! This is my home and you will leave me alone," roared the Prime Minister.

This outburst of anger had really tired him out and he dropped on to a sofa and panted. He was all right but he had to lie down. Several faces gazed searching at him.

"He is as dead as a doornail. There is no hope left. We are too late," said one of them.


"Can somebody ring the mortuary. His body has to be frozen. It may look bad if the Prime Minister began to decay."

"We can carry him into the garden I suppose?"

"That won't help. The temperature is too high."

"But I... I am not dead!" Gasped Olof Palmer."

"Why don't you listen to me? Why do you pretend not to hear me? I don't like this foolishness."

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