It resolves, slowly, into the squeaking of wheels; when the door opens, this time, it brings with it a wave of warm air, admitting in its wake a tall man in the neat white uniform of the orderlies (not so very different from the simple white pyjamas of the patients). He backs through, manoeuvering around the light steel frame of his cart. Rattling off the side: a broom and pan; on the top: juice, a deep cranberry, and a small plastic tub.

"Gabriel Gray," comes a voice through the spinning vertigo. "What are we going to do with you."