Viola, who knew the way better than anyone, refused to go anywhere near the wreck of her home. After her death, the flat was refurbished and soon found a new owner, but the dog wasn’t interested. The light on the porch shone as before, without the slightest attraction for him, and every summer her lilacs bloomed in vain. He looked for her in all the places they had walked together, but never at her home. He recognised the field where the battle had been fought and lost, even though he hadn’t witnessed it himself.
