The Weight of Atonement

The doorbell rang at six-thirty, right in the middle of dinner.

The butler went to the door and came back with Mr. Orson behind him, the same careful lawyer who had visited Vivian in prison, his briefcase in hand and his expression carrying the specific neutrality of someone who had learned not to show what he was delivering.

The family was still at the table. Plates half-finished. The conversatio