There were two or
three good rugs on the floor, and the walls were completely lined with
books; the familiar buckram and leather-bound, red-labeled law-books
that gave her memory a pang.
In these surroundings, the judge took on an added impressiveness, and he
was not an unimpressive-looking man. He was not large. Nose, mouth and
chin were small and rather fine, and he had the shape of head that is
described as a scholar's. One might not have remarked it in the hotel
dining-room, but in these surroundings, he looked altogether a judge.
But the effect of this on Rose was only to heighten her confidence. She
hadn't used the dinner hour to think out what she'd say to him. She'd
been thinking of Rodney again. Somehow, just the rebirth of a sense of
power in her, had brought the image of him back. She was throbbing with
that sense now, and her thoughts of Rodney had given her an exhilarating
idea. This man that she was about to confront was one whom Rodney had
often confronted. It was before this man, on the bench of the Supreme
Court, up at Springfield, that Rodney had made uncounted arguments.
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