'Benjamin’s parents passed away years ago, yet
no dust had settled in the house. He was left-handed, yet wrote with his right, and continued to playthe violin despite his hatred for the instrument. For Benjamin, days passed quietly, as he preferred solitude and left the house only to water the gardens or buy groceries for himself and his mother’s old lump of a dog, Chester. Much of his time was spent by the window of the main room with a cup of tea
or the occasional glass of scotch, contemplating the outside world with a hint of philosophical disdain.' (Introduction)
