Nothing is spoken. The door is simply shut. The television gasping for clarity is switched off, allowing the room to offer itself to moonlight. Breathing seems amplified, air cold and indifferent and all matter lay dead in the shifting darkness. We are equal in blackness. Shadows separate across the bed reaching for trousers and nightgown, the clumsy religion of cowering to cover what is not concealed. I could say something, that is my right but they did not expect me so soon and there are things they need to talk about. So I open the door take a last look at the living room furniture, the Titian imitation on the wall and leave my house.