Well, it was a grueling couple of days of sitting in a hallway as a trial went on without me. That’s what “sequestered” means as applied to witnesses. In Baltimore, they thoughtfully provide a wooden bench that feels like it’s fresh from a dimension where wooden benches are even more uncomfortable than they are in this one.

I did testify this morning. I’m not quite sure yet what, if anything, I want to or can say about that experience. I was nervous about the whole public speaking aspect, and also because, as we were instructed not to discuss the case, I was praying that my testimony, which was as accurate as I could recall, wouldn’t be at odds with anyone else’s. But the “good guys” seemed to feel that I had been helpful.

Let me tell you about the bad guys, or one bad guy in particular: the plaintiff. Oh man, this woman was the embodiment of dour hatred. Her white hair was a teased-up fright wig, and every time I saw her, her mouth was contorted into the most horrifying frown that has ever been frowned. Deep, deep lines, crevasses, began at the top, gouged into her doughy face and neck like uncovered fault lines, the convergence of continental plates of misery. Her frown started at her eyes and vanished into the neckline of her blouse. But as much trouble as she has put some very good people through, my contempt for this woman is tempered by as much compassion. When I saw her emerging from the courtroom, I gave her a small, sympathetic smile; the look she gave me in return almost knocked me through a wall.

She was the portrait of grim certainty.