It happened on the sixteenth morning. She did not know it was the sixteenth morning. She did not know what morning it was. The dream had not yet learned to keep the date. The clock in the hall said three, as it had always said three. The light, through the windows, was the colour of late afternoon, although the late afternoon had been a degree colder, for some mornings now, and the cold was the cold of a place that had been a place for a long time, and was beginning to forget how to be the place...