On 6 October 1979, John Cheever was photographed for the New York Times on the porch of his house in Ossining, an exclusive village in Westchester County. He’s sitting at a table piled high with objects: four misshapen apples, an American football, two pitchers of darkish liquid, a pair of glasses, a teetering heap of books and an unfinished drink. He’s dressed in polished shoes and a white shirt, his greying hair parted neatly at the side. He isn’t looking at the camera. Instead, he’s swung away from the viewer’s gaze, bending to pet the golden retriever flopped against his feet.
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