[first lines]Seymour Johnston: [narrating] I suppose you could say it began that Easter Sunday. I was spending the weekend at my Aunt Muriel's house in Norwich, Connecticut. A place I was forced to spend many weekends. Not that I found my aunt's company particularly congenial, far from it. But the food was fair and even she didn't have the effrontery to charge me for my visits. Not that she wasn't capable of doing even that. As a matter of fact, nothing my aunt did would be too surprising. But that weekend, she went too far. Even for a person as good-natured as myself.
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