The history room is a stately library. Hardwood floors. Hardwood wall paneling. Hardwood ceiling 20 feet overhead. Brass light fixtures. There are a number of desks that look like they came out of a lawyer's office; each adorned with a small reading lamp. The lampshades are dark green colored glass. A massive red Persian rug is spread out on the floor to dampen the noise from your feet and light classical music is wafting through the room at a barley audible volume. Very nice. Very expensive. Very pretentious.

The room is, of course, filled with huge bookshelves, but there is only one book. The book is a thick leather-bound volume that seems even more old and even more pretentious then the room built to house it. Worn golden lettering along the spine reads "An Instant of Perfect Peacefulness."

There is a window in the history room. The sun is pouring through. Outside is a beautiful green hillside. Wildflowers are pushing up in the grass. A bunch of happy people are playing frisbee under an old oak tree. You can feel the warmth of the sun radiating from the glass and you are suddenly filled with that spring fever urge to go outside and play. Unfortunately there is no door, and the window doesn't open. You wonder if the window is simply a ruse to weed out library patrons who aren't serious intellectuals... like yourself.

Read the book.
Go back into the hallway.