The clock strikes eleven times.
The ghost of Jimmy Fowler parades down the mansion’s spiral stairs past the grandfather clock to the ballroom and seats himself at the piano.
And he can still play; fuelled with enough love, enough anger, for Mary Stockington – that bitch – that feisty, souless, heartless bitch!
Meanwhile, Earl the groundsman assumes position by the double front doors. He chews on a cigar and waits; his toolbox at his feet.
At 11:58 Mary Stockington sweeps down the stairs; books scatter in her flight like stoned, flightless birds and fall at the piano.
At midnight the clock strikes. Once.