Even through the calamitous events of the previous day he had managed to bolster his spirits with the notion that everything would somehow clear itself up when the time came, but now he realized that he had only indulged in wishful thinking. Now, he just wanted to have done with it all. Compared to this yowling courtroom, a nice quiet cell seemed a haven of unblemished loveliness. He glanced behind him and shuddered. He seemed to be surrounded by a wall of accusing, pointing fingers.
Then he blinked and turned about. There appeared to be a curious divergence in the direction of the pointing fingers. Most of them, it was perfectly true, were pointing at him, but a few indicated a region far to the right. And even as he watched, others began to waver from him and move uncertainly away. Then, a great collective gasp scraped through the room, and was followed by a charged silence. Marc stepped forward and immediately echoed the gasp. George, fully materialized and smiling, was leaning nonchalantly against the right hand wall.
Casually smoking a cigarette, at the sight of Marc, the spirit plucked the smouldering cylinder from his lips and tossed it to the courtroom floor.
Marc's eyes promptly sought the face of the Justice. It was a grave mistake. The Justice's face, never a thing of beauty, was now an item of extreme repugnance. More than a human face, it looked like an ugly, mottled sponge that had been squeezed dry. The Justice's lips, a fierce blue color, were working at odds with each other in an attempt to say something that was probably better left unsaid.
One of the waitresses broke the spell with a shrill, hysterical giggle.
"Oh, my God!" she jabbered. "Now there's two of them!"
Justice Harvey pounded his gavel noisily as he pointed an accusing finger at George and bellowed: "How did he get into this court?"