I don’t recall precisely what Katherine said at this point, only that she was making excuses again, and in a whiny, nasal tone I find insufferable. Sleep, from whose oblivion I’d been so violently removed, was infinitely preferable to this: to light-waves, odours, textures, textiles—consciousness was vulgar and affronting to me, a swarming mass of needless details. My brain felt swollen, or my skull felt shrunken, I couldn’t tell which, and did it matter?