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ventured to lean over the table and smell the violets; they were
fresh-picked and very fine ones. Then he stared at Mr. Fotheringay
again.
"
How did you do that?" he asked.
Mr. Fotheringay pulled his moustache. "Just told it--and there you are.
Is that a miracle, or is it black art, or what is it? And what do you
think's the matter with me? That's what I want to ask."
"
"
It's a most extraordinary occurrence."
And this day last week I knew no more that I could do things like that
than you did. It came quite sudden. It's something odd about my will, I
suppose, and that's as far as I can see."
"
Is that--the only thing. Could you do other things besides that?"
Lord, yes!" said Mr. Fotheringay. "Just anything." He thought, and
"
suddenly recalled a conjuring entertainment he had seen. "Here!" He
pointed. "Change into a bowl of fish--no, not that--change into a glass
bowl full of water with goldfish swimming in it. That's better! You see
that, Mr. Maydig?"
"It's astonishing. It's incredible. You are either a most extraordinary
... But no----"
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