IT SEEMED, WHEN ANDREW Young came into the room, that Riggs and Stanford had been expecting him, had known that he was coming and had been waiting for him.
He wasted no time on preliminaries or formalities.
They know, he told himself. They know, or they have guessed. They would be watching me. Ever since I brought in my petition, they have been watching me, wondering what I would be thinking, trying to puzzle out what I might do next. They know every move I’ve made, they know about the toys and the furniture and all the other things. And I don’t need to tell them what I plan to do.
“I need some help,” he said, and they nodded soberly, as if they had guessed he needed help.
“I want to build a house,” he explained. “A big house. Much larger than the usual house.”
Riggs said, “We’ll draw
