“In the 1920s and 1930s, the huge Tudor, stone, and frame homes owned by the city’s wealthy had hosted many an elegant soirée. In the post-war boom, the suburbs had beckoned. One by one the stately houses had passed from owners’ to landlords’ hands. Some had become offices for lawyers, CPAs, photographers, upscale ad agencies, trend-setting graphic design firms. Others, like Toby’s address, had been subdivided into apartments. On the first floor, the house was now halved, producing a matching pa...ir of mirror-image two-bedroom flats. The left-hand flat, as you faced the wide, stone-and-wood structure, was shared by two young women—Sylvia Morris and Jean Dodge—who worked as secretaries half-days while attending LeMoyne College part-time in the evenings. They had invited Toby down for a keg party when they’d first moved in and he saw them weekly in passing. Both were reasonably attractive, friendly. They wore their brunette hair the same way. Wore similar clothing. Giggled at the same things.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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