Through this propped-open door came sounds of a woman who talked continuously, droning for hour upon hour about what I could not tell. I could never distinguish the words. This door was virtually always propped open, no matter the time of day, but I never saw into this room until the day I left the Parc Lincoln. I wanted to see this woman, to see what condition she was in, and to match a face to the voice that had accompanied my comings and goings from room 317. I was not able to see her, though. With the door to room 314 open I only saw a table and a basket of laundry. I think I made a cassette recording of this woman talking, but if I did then the tape is lost. In addition to the sound of her voice she (or whoever else may have been present with her) also listened to opera arias.

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