"Lucille could not abide her. To her it was us, just the two of us, in the whole world and she-- she would have no one else party to it."

Thomas could not tell her the darker truth. This was enough. He leaned forward on the table; he took another drink.

"The money ran out. I tried to get investors interested in our potential, but-- but no one could see what I could. Or perhaps they really did know better than I. Lucille began shopping for another bride."

Shame filled him.

"So I married Margaret McDermott, after a brief courtship. She wasn't much older than I, and-- and she was rather a nice woman." Thomas had thought he might make a better go of it, but perhaps he'd known better, even then. "I was a bit fond of her, she was terribly interested in the latest technology."

He finished his drink and looked up at Greta. "We argued over her. Lucille-- she insisted that we were better off without her, argued that she was somehow ruining me, ruining us. I-- I insisted that she leave Margaret alone."

For a moment, Thomas looked rather anguished and lowered his gaze again.

"Lucille bashed her head in."