"I'm coming,
too."
-- -- -- -- --
Elwood Caswell returned to his apartment by taxicopter. He lugged the
Regenerator into his living room, put it down near the couch and
studied it thoughtfully.
"That clerk was right," he said after a while. "It does go with the
room."
Esthetically, the Regenerator was a success.
Caswell admired it for a few more moments, then went into the kitchen
and fixed himself a chicken sandwich. He ate slowly, staring fixedly at
a point just above and to the left of his kitchen clock.
Damn you, Magnessen! Dirty no-good lying shifty-eyed enemy of all
that's decent and clean in the world....
Taking the revolver from his pocket, he laid it on the table. With a
stiffened forefinger, he poked it into different positions.
It was time to begin therapy.
Except that....
Caswell realized worriedly that he didn't want to lose the desire to
kill Magnessen. What would become of him if he lost that urge? His life
would lose all purpose, all coherence, all flavor and zest. It would be
quite dull, really.
Moreover, he had a great and genuine grievance against Magnessen, one
he didn't like to think about.
Irene!
His poor sister, debauched by the subtle and insidious Magnessen,
ruined by him and cast aside.
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