The lights in the vestibule were blinding to their dark-adjusted eyes as Concordia helped Dr. Westfield guide the judge into the reception room. They eased him into a chair. Judge Armstrong struggled for breath through bluish lips.
“That woman…how is she…” the judge gasped.
“Shh, Matthew. You mustn’t agitate yourself so,” the doctor admonished nervously. Gone were his wide smile and cheery, booming voice.
Concordia looked on as he broke some sort of ampule under the judge’s nostrils.
“What’s that?”
“Amyl nitrite,” the doctor, answered, without looking up, “we have started to use it recently for angina patients.” Dr. Westfield felt Judge Armstrong’s wrist.
Guilt twisted in her stomach. She had not known about a heart condition. Although on the day of the rally the judge had loo
