The stained glass of the front door cast a red glow acrossthe hallway, a staircase with an ornately carved mahoganybanister was to our left, the parquet floor laid with thinningTurkish rugs; this family had been rich for a long time. Aheavy mahogany table stood to the right of the door.

Ihate Hyndland. You'll find its like in any large city. Greenleafy suburbs, two cars, children at public school and bore-dom, boredom, boredom. Petty respectability up front,intricate cruelties behind closed doors. Most of the townhouses have been turned into small apartments. The McKind-less residence was the largest building in the street and theonly one still intact. I parked and sat for a while looking at it.It dominated the road, a dark, sober fagade intersected bythree rows of darkened windows.