Last morning. Soon new people will arrive and the house will no longer be ours. The memories in the place, the mental, almost instinctive maps of easy circulation avoiding the obstacles, will go with us and fade with lack of practice. The intimate knowledge of the minute topography of the walls, floors and ceiling, the cracks looked at in moments of despair and so locked to the memory. And then when the furniture is gone, the house is no longer the same. It is a different thing transformed by habitation.