In the dimly lit room, I make up a makeshift bed on the floor for my companion, who hasn't moved from the doorway since arriving. I narrate my actions, like an owner speaking to a pet who can't possibly understand: "I'll just put these blankets like so. If you get cold in the night, they'll be right here, you see? Are two pillows enough for you? I think they'll have to be; I can't imagine they'd give us any more. I'll fill up a glass with warm salt water for you to gargle with. I'll use the bathroom first, okay? You just stay out here and get ready for bed for now, and I'll be out in a little bit." Greta stands and stares and says not a word.