From her vantage point through the glass doors, she couldn't see the 
mediatron, which was facing away from her. Its light illuminated the whole 
room, painting the normally warm and cozy space with lurid flashing colors, and 
throwing long jagged shadows. Constable Moore had shoved all the furniture and 
other obstructions to the walls and rolled up the Chinese carpet to expose the 
floor, which Nell had always assumed was made of oak, like the floor in her 
cottage; but the floor was, in fact, a large mediatron itself, glowing rather 
dimly compared to the one on the wall, and displaying a lot of rather 
high-resolution material: text documents and detailed graphics with the 
occasional cine feed. The Constable was down on his hands and knees amidst 
this, bawling like a child, the tears collecting in the shallow saucers of his 
half-glasses and spattering onto the mediatron, which illuminated them weirdly 
from below.