It is in the lawyer’s coffee, beneath the worn gown, in the courtroom, in the silence of the office and sits upon the pages of the law books. We mourn a quintessential model of professional rectitude; an epitome of legal nobility. We would have been content with half her talents; even her grace. Death has thrust us into morbid introspection. Her footsteps admonish our consciences; more in death, than in life. So lovable, so likeable, so respectable; a woman, for all seasons.
A colleague shared a joke with me once. He related how looking down the street through the window of a house, a man preparing to go to work once remarked while reaching for his heaviest garment; “Today must be very cold,” he said, “I can see a lawyer with his hands in his own pockets”.