"The man's need to be outstanding is fundamental, Mr. Abram."
Lord Tennyson was saying, pouring himself a cognac.
"Please, have a seat."
He pointed and Oliver took the chair opposite the desk.
"A drink?"
"No, thank you, Sir."
It was a little after eleven.
The lord came forward and leaned against the side of the desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. He took a sip and placed the expensive crystal at an arm's reach, before continuing.
"Everything we do is a result of that need, sometimes that's a desperate wish to be important. It's essential to create something that stays. I believe you agree?"
"I do, yes."
"Unlike women, men don't create human beings. That's why we create something else. Stability."
Tennyson pushed away from the table and began pacing
