They lay on the floor with the unmistakeable smile of love lingering on their lips, dressed head to toe in white, in the immaculate attire of newly-weds.

They had to batter the door down, alerted by the cries of neighbours disquieted by the silence and stillness of the place. Joan Dolgut had not gone out to buy bread for days now. The notes that drifted from his forlorn piano, once so familiar to them all, could no longer be heard. They must have been lying on the floor of that dark kitchen for two or three days, but their bodies still retained the cold heat of love lost.