She would've been satisfied if he'd just flopped over like a sack of potatoes, really. But at Gyre's follow-up...

"Eleven doesn't live with us." She counters, tapping a foot. Didn't Gyre notice the lack of an Eleven door? Four, Five, Six on the first floor. Seven, Nine, Ten, Twelve on the middle floor. Eight up in the attic.

Because that's totally normal.

"They never have."