seeing dc 's things his books and manuscripts his pencils patterned with bite marks his eyeglasses half-folded and set on the edge of the shelf his shoes in the corner a spare pair with the laces looped and draped back into the tongue drooping free the potted plant on the windowsill cactus turning a faint brown you can see the creep of death as the color fades like the advance of rot down a gangrenous limb it is overwhelming she can feel his presence here so strongly .