‘You seem not to grasp the issue, Sir Benjamin,’ Cassian said. ‘I was in that coach. Your son could have killed Severn. There will be consequences.’ Sir Benjamin’s mouth opened and shut. Cassian stood in silence, back stiff with hauteur. His coat might have been ermine. He waited for Daizell to be freed, then turned and swept forward without a word to the magistrate, Daizell and Martin scrambling along in his wake. Daizell stepped out into his first fresh air and sunlight for two days, blinking. Cassian stopped in front of him, and gave a tiny shudder, like a horse shaking off flies. Daizell
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