 How would you describe the changes in tone through the passage?
And once it grows, someone with a tyrant mind is going to try to use it as a weapon if he can— [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding Science-Fiction April 1942. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] True, there had been others, pioneers, before the company came, who objected to the expansion of the monopolistic control. Anything involving executions had to be referred to the Interplanetary Council on Earth. This walk was part of a regular routine of physical exercise that kept his body hard and resilient in spite of long hours spent in the laboratory. He was making that walk in precisely seven minutes, four and four-fifths seconds. The battering thunder continued persistently. He swore some more and grabbed a towel, wrapping it inadequately around him; it didn't quite meet astern. Through the open door of his bedroom he could see his bed neatly turned down as it should be, but the outline under the counterpane and the luxuriant mass of platinum-blond hair on the pillow was certainly no part of his regular routine. Brian slowly acquired a complexion suitable for painting fire plugs. He struggled out of the bath, wrapped his damp bathrobe clammily around him and marched to the door with a seething fury of righteous anger burning within him. "Wherethehell's who?" "Quit stallin', bud. All I want is to get out of here—" "Gotcha, chief," Brent whispered understandingly. For the nineteenth time Brian Hanson strode to the door of his cell and rattled the bars. "Listen here, guard, you've got to take a message to McHague. I don't care if you are—" Brian's eyes almost popped out as he saw a gloved hand reach around the guard's neck and jam a rag over his nose and mouth. Swift shadows moved expertly before his astonished gaze. Another guard was caught and silenced as he came around the end of the corridor. Someone was outside his cell door, a hooded figure which seemed, somehow, familiar. In a few seconds the door swung open and they were fleeing silently down the jail corridor. "Right with you," the guard snapped and ran a few steps with them before a blackjack caught up with him and he folded into a corner. The electric eye tripped a screaming alarm, but the broken key in Brian's hands opened the complicated lock in a matter of seconds. They were outside the jail on a side street, the door closed and the lock jammed immovably behind them.
 From detached to intense
 From detached to intense  From excited to calm  From scary to tranquil  From calm to depressing