It was open. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. ” Courtlaw crossed the room and threw open the door. Yes, of course. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own.
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