Sandy crossed his legs, sipped at his claret and surveyed me over the rim of his glass. “I understand what you are going through, Doctor.”
I shook my head. “I would doubt that, Sandy. I am a qualified medical doctor, and I don’t understand. How can you know?”
I Sandy sipped again, with his gaze never straying from my face. “You have an internal struggle, Doctor, between what you know to be right and what you feel you want to do.”
I considered while the fire roared in my ears. The older of my maids added coal, for the evening carried a chill. “That is correct. How do you know?”
“I’ve had the same all my life.”
I reached for the claret bottle, hesitated, and poured myself another glass. “You are an interesting man, Sandy. You live in one of the poorer parts of the city, yet you are undo
