But Allan sat still and Sussman went on. “Right now we’re talking about nice people. He’s a doctor. They’ve got two sons, one fourteen, one seventeen, good boys, good students. Wonderful. If Dr. and Mrs. Garner were all we had to worry about I wouldn’t be here. But what happens when the Cohens want to sell, or the Raskins. Some nice family from Huntington or Hempstead comes out here and sees two black teen-­agers tooling around in their daddy’s Cadillac. Do you think that family’s gonna put out two hundred thousand dollars for a house when their next-­door neighbors are black? Do you?” Neither of them answered. “Would you?” Still no answer.

“Nu, Mr. Siegal.” Sussman concentrated on Allan. “What’d you pay for your house?”

Allan shrugged. “Two fifty,” he said.

“If you gotta sell, you want your money back, don’t you? Plus maybe a little profit. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I suppose so.”

Sussman nodded; he didn’t look at Rachel. “But we get five black families in this whole section and you won’t get your two fifty. And she won’t get her eighty, and the Cohens won’t get their two hundred.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Rachel asked hoarsely. “Have the black family murdered?” The flush on her face made her eyes sparkle. She looked lovely and they stared at her. Allan had never seen her angry; he didn’t know what to expect. He hoped that she would give up and start crying in a second. But she didn’t. She held the coffeepot in one steady hand.

“Of course not.” Sussman tried to sound soothing, but Allan realized that he was a little scared of Rachel Levy.

“The blacks have bought, the Rosses are moving next month. That’s that,” Sussman said.

“I’ll ask you again,” Rachel said, “what do you suggest?”

“Sell me your house. That simple. I’ll give you a fair profit.”

“Where do I and my family go?”

“I got lots of houses, Mrs. Levy. Some further out, some closer to the water, bigger, nicer. I can give you a terrific house for almost the same dough you get for this.”

“And what do you do with this house?” she asked. With my tulip tree and the mice in the attic.

“I’m going to tell you the truth,” Sussman said; “I up the price ten thousand on this place and sell black. I do the same with Mr. Siegal’s house, with the Cohens’ Raskins’, everybody. Turn the whole area over. I make a pile, everybody in the old neighborhood gets better houses; so, by the way, do the blacks. Better houses, better schools, everybody’s happy . . .”

“Get out,” Rachel said.

Sussman was stunned. “I’m not talking about race, Mrs. Levy. I swear to God . . .”

“Get out or I’ll throw this in your face.” The coffeepot steamed.