It takes the overhearing of this
cog:
No, no way. I’m serious. You could eat chocolate, no, right, you could
eat it every day for the rest of your life, and not eat anything
else at all, ever, and even at the end of that, even if you’d been
eating just chocolate for something like eighty years, like if you were
having your last bit of chocolate on your death-bed or something, and it’d still
have something, it would always taste a little bit of birthdays and
Christmas
for
her to recognise the hotel staff as people just like herself, as individuals
with all their own voices, ideas, hopes and flaws unique each to themselves,
and not as the many-headed gaoler miscellanea she had originally supposed them
to be.
