The piles of books were teetering precariously on the edge
of his desk, threatening to spill over into the waiting piles on the
floor. He pored over one of the largest,
age-yellowed and crumbling, his normally impeccable hair standing in
sweat-darkened spikes.
"You've been working for hours, m'Lord," she said,
drifting nearer. "What problem
vexes you so?"
"It's the land-grant case," he mumbled around a
quill pen.
"But look!" she cried. "That very tome holds your answer; the
law is clearly with you in this."
"Yes," he said, smiling ruefully. "I am trying to find a way to lose. Gracefully."
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