Mrs. Purcell was causing trouble on her floor. She didn't want to take her teeth out.

She'd got this notion that the caregivers were switching them around, trading one set of teeth for another. "They don't fit right in the morning," she growled through clenched jaws, thinking that if she opened her mouth too wide someone might make a grab for them. "They should fit the same, shouldn't they? What's to change?" It was only seven, but she was in bed already. Early to bed and early to rise, here. They were got out of bed not long after five in the morning. It was the last job of the night shift. Putting them to bed was the first job of the evening shift, and they liked to get it out of the way early, make sure lights were out by nine. And some of the residents took a bit of work to get to bed, getting up and wandering pyjama-clad down the hallways. Forgetting where they were when the shadows changed at dusk. A couple of them seemed to have secret ways out; they could be wandering the laws before anybody noticed. Everyone got agitated at night, it was one of the reasons they got put to bed so early. Minimize the exposure to darkness, don't let them see sunset at all, if it can be arranged. Sundowning, the staff called it. When darkness fell, the patients got confused, didn't recognize anything anymore, didn't recognize anyone. No one's sure what causes it -- is it just the changing of the light? But every eldercare worker knows it.