Oh," said the clerk, glancing distrustfully at Caswell's bloodshot eyes. "You seem a little nervous. Perhaps the portable Bendix Anxiety Reducer—" "Anxiety's not my ticket, either. What have you got for homicidal mania?" The clerk pursed his lips. "Schizophrenic or manic-depressive origins?" "I don't know," Caswell admitted, somewhat taken aback. "It really doesn't matter," the clerk told him. "Just a private theory of my own