‘You didn’t understand it any better than I. It’s these damned novels. The helicopter lifted from her hand and hovered in the air. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. My son is going to build a spaceship to Mars someday right in this room. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water.
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