Sit down for tea with friends at last, And have a chat about days gone past. Memories, old and new, are your currency in this room; Tell us your first and tell us your best, And tell us true, or the tea will be done quite soon-- It is rude to get up before you're through.
This room is absurdly pleasant, were it not for the lack of doors. The windows show a bright spring morning outside, but they do not open, and there is nothing to see but impossibly green grass in any direction. The wallpaper has yellow posies on it, the armchairs are covered in lace doilies and smell like grandmothers, while the tables are cluttered with china dogs and similar knick knacks. There is tea and cucumber sandwiches on the sitting room table.
The more time passes, the tea level goes down, and the sandwiches disappear.
Presumably, if they wait so long that the food disappears, they're stuck in there.