I met a debutante's family in the 60's. They lived in Bryn Mawr. The father was an advertising executive, who routinely came home from work, spoke to no one, got a cocktail, and went down to his basement shooting range, where he banged away for half an hour at man-sized targets; then came up and was sociable for dinner. He also made (and played) harpsichord replicas.
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