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’ ‘Charles, please come here.’ Father went into the Library. Charles followed. ‘What could be so bloody important this time?’ Charles though.... ‘Can’t this wait, Father? I’m…’ ‘NO! Now!’ He bellowed. Lord Berwick walked to the table and picked up the decanter. His hand shook as he poured two drinks. He drank one in a gulp and then refilled it. He handed one to Charles. ‘I’m sorry. I know you are tired but this can’t wait.’ Charles had never seen his father so upset. His father seemed to. We both perused a few of the magazines and books a bit, though it was tougher to do with one hand each available and the other in handcuffs. Lizzie ended up buying a copy of Vogue or Cosmo or something like that, while I found a copy of Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, which I believed to fit the circumstances. I looked in vain for Jack London’s White Fang, but the clerk said that it might come in about a week or two from now. The clerk winked at me when he saw the handcuffs, the impression. More

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