A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. "I'm your dupe no longer. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. So she took up Stevenson and began to read aloud. My nerves are shaken. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening.
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