" It depended upon your reading of him--whether by externals or not.
He had a quiet, fierce way with him, a glare, the look of a bird of prey.
He was very self-possessed. All the papers observed it.
Ingram, playing his privilege to the last ounce, told his tale to his
brother-magistrates, shortly, but with considerable effect. He had had
occasion to dismiss a servant, and the prisoner had taken upon himself to
resent it. Yes--in answer to a question--a female servant. Prisoner had
attacked him in his own carriage-drive, had pulled him out of the saddle
before he knew what he was about, and had beaten him while on the ground.
He had no witnesses. There had been none. His voice, as he chopped out his
phrases, was dry, his tone impartial. He took no sides, stated the facts.
He spoke to the Chairman--even when he replied to the question which made
him, for a moment, take breath; and he never once looked at the accused.
The Bench consulted together. Old Mr. Bazalguet, the Chairman, leaned far
back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling, while two younger justices
whispered to each other across his portly person, peering sideways at
Ingram, who showed them his smooth head and folded arms.
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