William Glazzard took his place not far from the reading-desk,
and behind it subsided the lecturer.
In these instants Denzil Quarrier was the prey of sudden panic. He
had imagined that his fortitude was proof against stage-fright, but
between the door and his seat on the platform he suffered horribly.
His throat was parched and constricted; his eyes dazzled, so that he
could see nothing; his limbs were mere automatic mechanism; he felt
as though some one had set his ears on fire. He strove wildly to
recollect his opening sentences; but they were gone. How was he to
fill up a mortal hour with coherent talk when he had not command of
one phrase? He had often reproved himself for temerity, and now the
weakness had brought its punishment. What possessed him to run into
such a----?
The chairman had risen and was speaking. "Pleasure----introduce
----Mr. Denzil Quarrier,----not unknown to many of you----
almost at a moment's notice----much indebted----"
An outbreak of applause, and then dead silence. The ticking of the
clock became audible. Some external force took hold upon him, lifted
him from the chair, and impelled him a few steps forward. Some
voice, decidedly not his own, though it appeared to issue from his
throat, uttered the words "Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen." And
before the sound had ceased, there flashed into his thoughts a story
concerning an enlightened young lady of Stockholm, who gave a
lecture to advance the theory that woman's intellect suffered from
the habit of allowing her hair to grow so long.
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