“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. Sara Darnell was a sprightly, svelte twenty-five year old who was known for serving detentions at meter maid frequency, if only to be taken marginally more seriously by the predominantly male Lincoln High Science Department. He growled in his throat and, thrusting his coat open, revealed his own buckled sword-belt. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. A sudden knock at the door startled her. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. Challenge accepted.
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