And he was
quite mad.
Fortunately, he knew this at least part of the time, with at least half
of his mind.
-- -- -- -- --
Perspiring freely, Caswell continued down Broadway toward the 43rd
Street branch of Home Therapy Appliances, Inc. His friend Magnessen
would be finishing work soon, returning to his little apartment less
than a block from Caswell's. How easy it would be, how pleasant, to
saunter in, exchange a few words and....
No! Caswell took a deep gulp of air and reminded himself that he didn't
really want to kill anyone. It was not right to kill people. The
authorities would lock him up, his friends wouldn't understand, his
mother would never have approved.
But these arguments seemed pallid, over-intellectual and entirely
without force. The simple fact remained--he wanted to kill Magnessen.
Could so strong a desire be wrong? Or even unhealthy?
Yes, it could! With an agonized groan, Caswell sprinted the last few
steps into the Home Therapy Appliances Store.
Just being within such a place gave him an immediate sense of relief.
The lighting was discreet, the draperies were neutral, the displays of
glittering therapy machines were neither too bland nor obstreperous. It
was the kind of place where a man could happily lie down on the carpet
in the shadow of the therapy machines, secure in the knowledge that
help for any sort of trouble was at hand.
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