“What impression, Mr. Sarrazin?”

“You look as if you thought there was some excuse for the judge.”

“That’s exactly what I do think.”

“You find an excuse for him?”

“I do.”

“What is it, ma’am?”

“Constitutional infirmity, sir.”

“May I ask of what nature?”

“You may. Gout.”

Mr. Sarrazin thought he understood her at last. “You know the Lord President,” he said.