She waits a while longer, until she has completely reassociated with her surroundings. There are approved exercises for this which involve visualising your awareness as an elastic dough and extending it into every extremity one by one. Neith finds them childish as well as somewhat ineffectual. Glancing at the poem one more time, she decides that she has done enough to be sure of her body and goes to make coffee, which is the unofficial punctuation of her rite. She walks to the galley kitchen, dials water from the hot tap. The sink tells her—as it always does—that the water is coming out at 96 degrees Celsius, a temperature that is ideal for making coffee but dangerous to human skin.