“Oh, gods,” Mr. Hart drawled. “Here come the dramatics.”
“The judge feels he can delay the trial without any protest from you, the people! And why? So this woman has more time to lounge about? We demand a speedy verdict!”
“Come on.” Mr. Pike appeared at my elbow, hurrying me past them. “Let’s get you to your carriage.”
But the reporters immediately abandoned Mr. Freezout. “Mrs. Spadros! Do you feel you can get a fair trial?”
Mr. Pike took my arm. “Say nothing.” We hurried down the steps, the others close behind, and Honor opened the door.
“Mrs. Spadros! You’ve admitted to being from the Pot! Do you feel you’ve been judged guilty already? Do you think you’re held to a higher standard because of your birth?”
That a quadrant-man would even consider asking such a question surprised me. T
