“You’ve took a very proper line in the opinion of me and Mrs. Trivett,” he said. “Mrs. Trivett shares your feelings about it. As for me, I’m properly sorry, because one can’t do nothing to help. She’s done for herself now, and she’ll smart long after you’ve done smarting, if that’s any consolation.” “I know; but I don’t want her to smart particular,” said Ned. “She’s been sinned against—took at her own ridiculous valuation. She had to be herself, poor wretch; but the more I think of it—I ain’t sure now if it wouldn’t be best to break that man’s neck, Knox. Yes, I reckon I’ll go to Liverpool. I don’t want to bide here within a few miles of her. A clean break’s the best. How’s the new beaterman going on?” “None too well. Trenchard don’t like him and Trood hates him. He told Trood to mind his own business last week; and coming from Bulstrode—Bulstrode’s his name—to the foreman, that was a startler. In fact Trood won’t be himself till Bulstrode’s gone now. He’s a doomed man you may say. Then there was a little affair with Trenchard too. He wants some more of the advertisements made—the pictures—and he explained the pulp to Bulstrode, and Bulstrode, good though he is at everyday work, have a rigid mind and said he was there to make paper pulp, not do conjuring tricks. An unyielding sort of man in fact; and though of course he’s doing what he’s told as well as he can, he don’t like it, and no doubt he’ll soon be gone.” “He was here a bit ago—Kellock, I mean,” said Ned. “I often wonder how I keep my hands off the man that’s ruined my home; but so far I have. There’s something uncanny to him. He ain’t human, Knox. He’s got a something else in him that puts him outside the run of humans. A bit of fish or frog. I ain’t frightened of smiting him; I may come to it; but I can’t explain. He’s not like other people. I always feel he’s an image—a machine made to look and talk like a man.”