Margaret Crenshaw and her obnoxious son Fred do their best to keep things uncomfortable when they visit with old friends.
To the great relief of Graham’s mother and Margaret, Graham gathered up his children and left for home the next morning. They were expected for the traditional holiday dinner at the Weldon home. The Crenshaws in their enormous garnet sleds pulled up the drive at Tenafly Road to be met by a few chairs–badly burnt and smoldering–and a sooty John Weldon limping up to greet them.
“Holy Jerusalem, Weldon! What’s happened? Is everyone all right?” Graham asked, climbing down from his seat.
“A fire. S-Sarah s-set the place in flames,” John laughed in his defeated way.
“Graham, dear. . .” Margaret said with her hand held out, waiting to be helped from the sled.
Graham took Margaret’s hand and set her beside him.
“Mr. Weldon, it seems hardly the time…
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