I could no longer put it off. Bodies had been washed and cleaned, and caked-on excrement sponged off and disposed of. The final cups of tea had been slurped and sucked, and the evening shift was coming to an end.
Except for one last chore. The glasses beside the beds wait expectantly to receive their gruesome charges.
Plunging my hand into the first mouth, I grope around soggy clumps of biscuit crumbs jostling with pieces of masticated corn. Drooling secretions ooze between my fingers, covering them with a slimy film as I poke and prise.
There is always a struggle, as some faint memory of ownership reasserts itself in a painful clamp on my hand. Releasing it from harm I start the process again.
Success at last, as I drop the dripping, discoloured teeth into the glass. Particles of food, released from crevices, float sluggishly in the water.
Now for the lower set. As my stomach heaves up to my throat, I gag it back, and again plunge my hand into the unwilling mouth.