Feuilly's a little surprised by his own feeling of...domestic familiarity, coming into this room. It might be strange, but it's really kind of home now. The dogs nose off towards the far door, plainly more interested in finding fallen breakfast scraps than in getting outside.

"It's..." Feuilly runs a hand through his hair and tries again. "There's an illness that comes here sometimes--I've never had it myself, but some friends have--that makes a person imagine they're someone else. It, um. It's apparently very convincing. But I know that's hard to accept."