Weemley bade me sit in a chair, body bent slightly forward. He put one cupped palm beneath my chin and mouth, then struck me rather sharply between the shoulder blades. I felt something scratch my throat as it was ejected from my mouth into Weemley's palm. He clutched whatever it might have been tightly and nodded sagely.
"Yes, sir. That should do it right enough," he said, then turned on his heel and left the room. A moment later I heard the garbage disposal unit humming briefly. Weemley came back, looked at me with the semblance of a smile, and said, "You'll not be bothered with that again, Sir."
Nor have I ever been.