Levi assisted quietly with the chores. He fashioned a clothesline from their extra wire, and strung it above the fireplace so the garments wouldn't block the heat or get in the way. He shed his damp cloak and jacket, hung them, then knelt by the fallen books. He found a thick one — a tome detailing noble genealogy — and tore out several pages without pause. They served as kindling, and using the newly splintered wood, he built a fire.

Next, Levi stood to observe the bed. No blankets or quilt, and the linens smelled harshly of mold and rot; they were unusable, in his opinion, and handling them only briefly made him queasy. Levi ripped the bedding from the frame and sent it fluttering out the window. Underneath, the feather mattress appeared to be salvageable. He dragged over a bench and attended to it with rough, wet cloth and — for scraping — the back of a knife.

Though they could sleep on the floor just as easily, there was time to kill, and the methodical work made for a relaxing and occupying task. With removal of the bedding, the odor of the room had marginally improved, and the fire began to radiate a cozy, spreading warmth.