"Dash it! Dash it! Dash it!"
"Now, now, Mr. Cornith! If you give way to your feelings, no telling what might happen. That's one of the things you didn't anticipate. There's nothing in the specifications—"
"Here!" Lucy opened her handbag and drew out a flask. "You need a drink. Brace up. There are worse things than being married."
"I don't drink." Cornith seized the flask and tossed off a swallow. "Ah! Martian Vinth! Never touch the stuff." He took another swallow. "Now I don't have to marry you. I deliberately specified that my wife should not be a Vinth sot."
"Herb darling, you're so clever! I detest the stuff. But I happened to know that scientists drink it to strengthen their minds and to keep their health up. I brought it along to prove how thoughtful I am. I also have in my handbag a length of chewing rope."
Cornith shook his head. "I don't chew, but you go right ahead."
Lucy shook her head. "Too bad. I chew, drink, smoke, brawl, swear, lie, steal, eat with my knife, and throw things. All in the specifications. I do everything except drink Vinth. Too bad you don't. We could have so much fun together, chewing and drinking and lying and stealing and fighting and throwing things."
"But I didn't mean all those things."
"Of course you didn't, darling! And I'm so sorry you put them in. But what's done is done, and there's no use worrying about it. Take another drink and brace up."