Mikal slammed the door of the Korova, and at the moment he did, a shower of leaves fell from the nearby maple trees. For an instant, he believed the slamming of the door had done it, but then the crisp breeze out of the north swept past him. He raised the collar of his jacket, and moved towards the house, where he could see his mother waiting for him on the porch. As he stepped off the drive, he nearly walked through a pile of leaves, patiently gathered by one of the gardeners, and he had all he could do not to romp through them like a child. But the stiff, proper posture of his mother on the porch, acknowledging the presence of her servant with just the slightest nod of the head as he brought her a pot of tea, warned him she was watching. “Oh yes,” he thought, “she doesn’t even wan...

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