The next morning, I take a gharry to the High Court and climb the stairs to my courtroom. I feel embedded in the furniture and that after the trial is over my ghost will still be here. My head is so full of pressure from the humidity that I can hardly see, but this isn’t a day to be absent. I take my place next to Mr. Trevelyan and notice Mr. Hastie and Mr. Gasper in close conversation. Both men look exasperated. Perhaps they’ll melt.
“All rise,” the clerk calls out.
Justice Norris swiftly strides to his chair and seats himself in a swirl of red. “You may proceed, Mr. Gasper.”
The barrister hooks his hands into his lapels. “Thank you, My Lord. I hope to persuade Your Lordship that my client’s actions weren’t malicious in any sense.”
“I didn’t say there was malice.”
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