ABSTRACT
Jake Van Buren’s Aunt Hallie died the week of the stock- market crash. Both events seemed unreal. Jake had always been singularly detached from the visible world. He had been born in that old house on East Eighteenth Street; he had lived there all his life—and he was now nearing forty, though he did not look it—but in spirit he had always been a lodger. He was used to the house; he was equally used to his Aunt Hallie and his Aunt Susan.
