I took them because a woman about to go to war does not leave live ammunition lying in the enemy’s study.

By four o’clock the ten-thousand-square-foot house stood echoing and bare, a beautiful carcass with nothing left inside it but sound.

I understand how the moving trucks look from the outside — like spite, like a scorned wife emptying a house to wound a husband.

It was not that, and the difference matters to me, so let me be exact about it.

Almost nothing in that house was Camden’s.