Swiftly, I ran my hands over the couch.
Only now, it developed, it wasn't a couch; not really. What I'd taken to be a fabric cover was nothing but a wad of sacking draped over a row of fibrox shipping cases.
Fumbling, I located one of the case's opener tabs and sheared away the fibrox.
Smaller cases spilled out, each about the size of a candybox.
A tremor of excitement ran through me. Hastily, I ripped open one of these smaller cases ... ran my fingers over smooth metal and an array of dials and switches.
A thrill-mill.
For an instant I hesitated. Then, quickly, I ripped away box after box, lining up the mills in a neat row along the wall beside me.
By the time I'd finished, I had no couch to sit on, and the row of mills reached well-nigh half the way around the room.
Now, by feel, starting at the door, I lined up all the dials alike, then threw the activating switches.
All of a sudden, the room was no longer still. Every breath, every shuffle, rose in my ears like peals of thunder. Varicolored sparks flashed through the black. The mustiness grew to a stench that blocked my nostrils. I coughed and choked on every particle of eddying dust.