’ She counted off on her fingers. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage to face it. The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. My son is going to build a spaceship to Mars someday right in this room. "The blood that has been spilt is that of his wife. He had hired not one but two engineers to record the event, subsidized entirely out of his own meager pocket.
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