Caswell walked across the room to the therapeutic machine. One hand was still in his jacket pocket; the other he laid affectionately upon the Regenerator. "The poor thing tried its best," he said. "Of course, it couldn't cure what wasn't there." He laughed. "But it came very near succeeding!" -- -- -- -- -- Rath studied Caswell's face and said, in a trained, casual tone, "Glad there was no harm, sir. The Company will, of course, reimburse you for your lost time and for your mental anguish--" "Naturally," Caswell said. "--and we will substitute a proper Terran Regenerator at once." "That won't be necessary." "It won't?" "No." Caswell's voice was decisive. "The machine's attempt at therapy forced me into a compete self-appraisal. There was a moment of absolute insight, during which I was able to evaluate and discard my homicidal intentions toward poor Magnessen." Rath nodded dubiously. "You feel no such urge now?" "Not in the slightest." Rath frowned deeply, started to say something, and stopped. He turned to Follansby and Haskins. "Get that machine out of here. I'll have a few things to say to you at the store." The manager and the clerk lifted the Regenerator and left. Rath took a deep breath. "Mr. Caswell, I would strongly advise that you accept a new Regenerator from the Company, gratis. Unless a cure is effected in a proper mechanotherapeutic manner, there is always the danger of a setback." "No danger with me," Caswell said, airily but with deep conviction. "Thank you for your consideration, sir. And good night." Rath shrugged and walked to the door. "Wait!" Caswell called. Rath turned. Caswell had taken his hand out of his pocket. In it was a revolver. Rath felt sweat trickle down his arms. He calculated the distance between himself and Caswell. Too far. "Here," Caswell said, extending the revolver butt-first. "I won't need this any longer." Rath managed to keep his face expressionless as he accepted the revolver and stuck it into a shapeless pocket. "Good night," Caswell said. He closed the door behind Rath and bolted it. At last he was alone. Caswell walked into the kitchen. He opened a bottle of beer, took a deep swallow and sat down at the kitchen table. He stared fixedly at a point just above and to the left of the clock. He had to form his plans now. There was no time to lose. Magnessen! That inhuman monster who cut down the Caswell goricae! Magnessen! The man who, even now, was secretly planning to infect New York with the abhorrent feem desire! Oh, Magnessen, I wish you a long, long life, filled with the torture I can inflict on you. And to start with.... Caswell smiled to himself as he planned exactly how he would dwark Magnessen in a vlendish manner. The End