Mr Briggs, Mr Eyre's lawyer, wrote to us telling us that our uncle had died, and left all his property, not to us, because of his quarrel with our father, but to his brother's daughter.
We move them into the same house, I verbally assassinate everybody, we open up Pandora's box, and I get people to stop arguing about the donuts and who is hosting Thanksgiving dinner, and talk about the real stuff.
Those who could not work magic were, to the son's mind, worthless, and he had often quarreled with his father's habit of dispensing magical aid to their neighbours.