“Do you live by yourself in such a house, Garland?” I asked.

“I have servants, of course,” he said. “But since I lost my immediate family, I have lived alone. One can get used to it if one has grown up amidst the echoes rolling through the hallways. You will see that I have many rooms to wander in and out of. I am never bored with my home. It seems like every day when I’m there, I discover something to change, something to add, and something to, shall we say, retire. The vast attic is more like a cemetery filled with discarded furniture, portraits of relatives I never knew or even heard of, and old toys, antiques, as well as closets of clothes once thought to be elegant. There are coats and shoes, busts and mannequins. It’s a virtual gold mine of relics. It wouldn’t surprise me to find actual skeletons.

“When I was a little boy, maybe not that little, I’d go up there and explore. My mother worried about rats and spiders and even ghosts. Once you spend time in Foxworth Hall, you’ll understand why I often think it’s alive. Somewhere in some dark part of it, its heart beats.”

When he spoke, he seemed hypnotized, talking like someone dreaming. Although his arm was still around my shoulders, I could almost feel him drift away. I was speechless, of course, maybe even a little shocked. I looked closer at Foxworth Hall and thought I had never had even an inkling of such a feeling for my house. I could move out of it tomorrow and not miss a corner, a step, or a window. My father talked about houses in the same way he spoke about investments. The only emotion he seemed to have was joy when its value rose.

And yet I would have to admit that it was intriguing to think of a house as central to who you were, to your family’s identity. Only a Foxworth could feel it in this one, perhaps. Garland certainly seemed to.

“How many rooms are in the house?” I asked, more to bring him back to earth than to educate myself about it.

“Thirty-six, but there are closets in some rooms as big as rooms in other people’s homes. I have my favorite ones, of course, and I’ll be interested to see which rooms you like the most. Of course, you’ll love our ballroom and that new piano I described.”

“Do you play?”

“No, but it’s easy to hire someone who does when I want to, when I want the music in the house, when I have a reason to use the ballroom.”

He smiled but did so facing the mansion more than me. It was as if he believed the house could hear him talk about it in such favorable terms.