There it sat, an $18 million imitation English village, spang in the midst of the Connecticut countryside. An eccentric old woman had built Avon Old Farms as the spit & image of a Cotswold village, with carefully warped roofs, rippled window panes, synthetically worn stairs. She had meant it for a boys' school. There were no students at Avon last week. The only sign of schoolboy life was a boy named Butch, busy tacking up college pennants in a monklike cubicle in one of the dormitories, installing model airplanes, and littering up the...
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