In a fit of impassioned rage, eyes wide at the horror and<br>
injustice, you hurl the perfectly mediocre painting out<br>
the window of the room.  It seems to glide momentarily on<br>
a breezy updraft, before plummeting whatever distance lies<br>
between it and earth.  After an indeterminate number of<br>
seconds, you hear it clunk rather disappointingly into the<br>
ground.  Dejected at the lack of explosions and rancor, you<br>
sigh dejectedly.<br><br>
<a href="2bb.html">Turn around</a>