He walked into the house and shut the heavy front door behind him.

I turned around and walked down the driveway toward the empty street.

The autumn wind picked up, and dry oak leaves rustled across the pavement.

I stepped off the curb and started the three-mile walk back to my apartment in the dark.

Mr.

Miller, the bank manager, clicked his silver ballpoint pen three times before setting it flat on the polished mahogany table.

We were sitting in the secure back room of First Horizon Bank on Grand Avenue.