The hushed rooms of the small bungalow were cluttered with dolls, doll furniture, toys. It was early morning and the only ones up were Barton Davis and two of his children, whom he warned to be quiet: the other two children and their mother were still asleep. He helped three-year-old Marquis get dressed, told ten-year-old Daphne to take care of him, kissed the two goodby, and left them making toast.
The morning was well along when Davis, busy at the grocery store where he was manager, had a telephone call from his oldest...
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