” Courtlaw turned abruptly to Brendon. ’ A grimace crossed her face. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. I am certainly no ghost. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. I hope that James will not be long with that whisky and Apollinaris.
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