ABSTRACT
I drive up and down Cove Hollow Road in suburban Long Island at least three times. Nothing along the winding thoroughfare looks like a residential development, much less a guardhouse. Flowering trees obscure hidden driveways and make it difficult to read road signs. I stop and get out to look at a map, and then climb back into my rust-stained Volkswagen, retracing my way down the treacherous roadway. At the last curve I turn left onto a narrow drive with a gold-leaf painted sign announcing “Manor House.”
