“The felicity of the day had a pox upon it, with skies being clouded with a graphite smear of imperfection that of course demanded recompense….”
Orange wrote words quickly… girth, graphite, smear, recompense…. The more Mortimer spoke, the more confused and sweaty Orange became.
“I shall have to go to the market to purchase yet another pamphlet for my drawings as my innocence has been compromised with verbal lashings from the miscreants of the harbor.”
The officer wiped sweat from his brow, trying to keep up. The sergeant was going to wring his neck for this interview.
“Did you assault Mr. Flint at the harbor?” He interjected. Mortimer paused, giving Orange a little thrill. But when he went on, Orange’s momentarily excitement died.
“Documentation is not far from my grasp and only with
