The white table in the white room was completely bare, and looked like a kind of altar. I began to stare at the pale walls of the room. The room was so white that when I looked up I was actually looking straight at my own face rather than at the ceiling.
In fact, I was looking straight at the ceiling, and it was so white that I could hardly bring myself to look up there at all. I looked down at my own face. I looked at the wall vertically and horizontally, trying to work out how in the world a person could conceivably be alive without a face.