"I don't want to see you wind up this way, Jake—losing a penny-ante case like this!"
"You know how I feel about this case."
"No deal, then?"
"No deal."
The D.A. wheezed angrily:
"Then I'm going to whip you, Jake—and that punk's going to burn!"
Jake didn't answer, and they drove slowly along the endless, winding roads of Central Park. The tires of the great car murmured over the pavement like a boat in the ripples of a lake, and the silent motor gave them a sensation of floating through the night.
Anger still fired the D.A.'s voice when he made his opening address to the jury. His final words were brutally to the point:
"We've all heard rumors about what the defense may or may not attempt to prove in this trial, but let us not forget that in the law of our land there is no place for medical quacks, parole panderers or all the bleeding hearts who drip sympathy for a killer like Tony Corfino! The chair is the only thing he and others like him will ever understand!"