It was a handsome and cultured city, but Scottish law was different from English, and always had been, and he found testifying – albeit as an expert witness on an old case – to be somewhat testing of both his skill and his memory. He had taken a short holiday afterwards in the beautiful Trossach hills, and perhaps that was what had really troubled him. Their wild, almost haunting loveliness had increased his awareness of being alone. He had longed to turn to someone and say, ‘Isn’t that exquisite? How the light falls on the water! How the trees crowd together against the sky with such grace.’ And there was no one. No degree of kindness from strangers made up for the understanding of a friend; nothing at all for the absence of love. He did not miss Margaret, the wife who had left him after his disbarment. No, that was not true; she had left in heart long before that. It was simply the excuse that exonerated her and made it easy. He missed what he had believed they had, what he had hoped that with time it could become.
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