Sentence The Sevenhundredandfifth 

There was a slight kerfuffle as the tatterdemalion trio of visitors tried to seat themselves around Dewey Trumpet-Trousers' round table which, with its lilac-upholstered couches which matched the walls, contributed to the wan complexion of the President, a man who rarely ventured into the sun as it's brightness pained his sensitive eyes, as he sipped at the syllabub handed to him by Dolores Bambona, his very personal secretary and Chief of Staff, and over the rim of his glass watched the others stretch for their drinks which Dolores had deliberately placed just out of their reach; and the

President wondered how many men have the opportunity of meeting their ancestors from eight hundred years ago, in the flesh, alive and kicking, especially after that explosion forty years ago to the day which CIS DC scientists reported had transformed them into atoms, intermingled with the walls, doors, furnishings, indeed everything which had been contained within the basement – it had broken his father's heart, his only consolation being that the son of Sir Parlane MacFarlane and Marie Doubleday had been one of the children who survived, being tucked up and asleep in their beds upstairs at the time: Pippin Doubleday-MacFarlane succeeded his father to the Baronetcy and was now, at 45, America's Ambassador to Scotland, which had become an independent republic in 2020 and Dewey was still trying to work out how Pippin could become his ancestor too – for he was openly gay and neither he nor his husband was interested in having a child by IVF – oh, it was all too difficult for him to work out; MacFarlane was speaking and Dewey tried to re-focus: "Am urny a

latitudinarian," he was saying, "ah dinny ken whit happened efter Dom here lit the match, jist a big flash an when ah opened me een, we wiz in a vault wi stacks of gowd bars, ah've nevva seen sic a sicht afore in ma life; ah thocht ah'd been eighty-sixed bi sum execration, an pit thru an alembic, ah felt awfy strange, an there wis Dom an Marie, an then yer men-at-arms cam in an seized us an brocht us up here – wha ur ye? ye look kinda like the Pres, but yer ower young, jist a whippersnapper, whaur's Donald Duck, that's whit ah want tae ken and whaur is oo onywey?"