The old dog, some kind of mongrel, strayed into the town of Clarks Green on a hot Sunday morning in August when nearly everybody was asleep except the children. With its black fur in rattails and its eyes thick with mucus, it did not look well as it stopped to sip at the fringe of each spacious watered lawn. Only because the front door of the Danderini's was wide open did it actually go inside, drawn by the irresistible smell of meat.

"Who left the goddamn front door open?" asked Dr. Danderini, the urologist, wandering in from the deck in white silk pajamas. "All the money I put into screens and somebody leaves the door wide open."

"James didn't do it," said Mrs. Danderini in a soft but clear voice that came across best on the telephone. She had once been her husband's receptionist, and it was her phone voice that won his heart. She still called him several times a day at the office, aware that he treated her best over the telephone. "James is good about closing the door."