Perhaps the war had tamped down his previous extravagance, making things like expensive furniture and framed art inessential. Thinking back to her own small, bland flat, she could relate. There was a throw tossed over the back of the sofa, a book templed on the side table. Small signs dotted around, indicating that he lived and existed here. Part of her wanted to be angry at it, the rest of her felt like she’d just taken a breath, relieved from the suffocating pressure that had made a nest inside of her.