Clyde poured champagne and watched the upper crust file in.  It was nearly cosmopolitan mix of those who earned their fortunes through the blood and  sweat of their employees’ brows and those who inherited their money.  They all looked so carefree in their finery, spending their money, but he could see that they merely wore masks.
Bartenders like him knew the truth, usually after the third or fourth double.  Men were destroyed by money and power, and it did worse to women.  Every one of them was doomed to despair.  And before The HMS Indomitable landed, he’d hear their stories.