They had been silent, apart from the rustling of the bedclothes as they moved. They were stiff, like wooden figures, and in the dream I had thought the jaws were made of wood and hinged like wooden jaws, and they hadn’t been ravenous, or hungry, or anything, but had acted with a silent and dispassionate automation. They didn’t know what they were doing, they were beyond knowing anything, and ate what could no longer nourish them in any way. Silent, numb, and mindless, they had torn into me as if it were all they could do. I spent the day looking for them. The dream had destroyed my appetite; I busied myself looking for them all day long, until I was staggering with hunger.