she wanders the empty house hating him missing him wanting to be rid of him god he is everywhere she takes down the pictures she takes down the accolades takes down the awards from the shelves takes down the books from the bookcase eight books the same eight books over and over in all their divergent editions and printings four copies of life in the north the first copy the first paperback the mass market version the vanity press copy with gold-edged pages and a silky bookmark five copies of a weakness three copies of woodsmen and all the rest all the other five those eight books those eight books she can chart her life by them can remember the way they dominated her existence over the past thirty years while she had produced nothing and been nothing but an ancillary to david 's art now he is gone and she is all that is left so really these belong to her do n't they if not her than who ?