Fingal and Reynaud spent hours listening to the wire. The popular court’s president, Le Flit, spent a great deal of time speaking, usually in a way in which it was clear he was projecting to all corners. But the others (there were twelve on the panel) had lots to say as well. The case of Corgnelle and his neighbor’s donkey so perplexed them they fell to yelling and disputing with themselves. What was the nature of eating? When is a donkey not a donkey?
“It sounds just a little like our philosophy course,” Fingal said, smiling.
“Professor Rheinhard would wring your neck to hear that.”
Le Flit rose, or so they heard, to speak, but his twenty minutes of bombast did little to clear away the profusion of heavy questions the rest of the panel had brought up. He was interrupted while winding down by another member, probably Gallet, exploding with anger at Corgnelle for apparently allowing his donkey to shit on the courtroom floor.
Think, in that old ministry hall, the windows nailed shut and the jurists in scraps of woolen finery, how the filth of this animal must make waves in the diaphoretic air.
Three hours ultimately passed and the case was put aside for another day.
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