8

He stood at the entrance of Linyin Avenue, staring at the rows of beech, as if a retreating army had disappeared into the fog before his eyes. The darkness still lingers, and the earth is as dark as the interior. It's probably dusk: it's time for tea in an old country house. The street lamps on either side of him only dimly lit candles, illuminating nothing. The air felt warm and heavy. He was expecting to see the police still at the scene and to see the area enclosed by the ropes. He expects to see journalists or curious bystanders. He looked slowly down the slope, and there was nothing, he told himself. As soon as I left, Valadimir stood up with joy, cane in hand, and wiped off ......

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