The shadows of the room and its curious perfume were a trifle
disconcerting.
"Risk it, anyway," he concluded. "Here goes!" He raised the little
brown fruit--which did indeed somewhat resemble a bean--to his mouth and
swallowed it. He found it quite tasteless, but the deed was no sooner
done than he was startled by a curious buzzing in his ears and a
momentary but peculiar lapse of memory. He sat and looked around him
like a man who has been asleep and suddenly awakened in unfamiliar
surroundings. Then the sound of his client's voice suddenly recalled
him to himself. He started up and peered through the gloom.
"Who's there?" he asked, sharply.
"Say, young man, I am waiting for you when you're quite ready," Mr.
Lynn remarked from the threshold. "Queer sort of atmosphere in there,
isn't it?"
Mr. Alfred Burton came slowly out and locked the door of the room.
Even then he was dimly conscious that something had happened to him. He
hated the musty odor of the place, the dusty, unswept hall, and the
general air of desertion. He wanted to get out into the street and he
hurried his client toward the front door. As soon as he had locked up,
he breathed a little sigh of relief.
"What a delicious soft wind!" he exclaimed, removing his unsightly hat.
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