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Tonight I cleaned the lanterns with precious newspaper that the copper gave me.

I lit one lamp and set the other glasses on the table in front of me. I read the paper by the light and then I tore the newspaper into thin, cleaning strands.

Three pages I kept, and folded them neatly into my breast pocket.

Coulter and Treffene Found Guilty and Sentenced to Death

The Verdict

The cleaning takes an age: careful squeaks on charcoaled glass. Glass waisted and curved like a woman, with fancy, fluted edges. Imagine if I were to break a glass, a lantern that would no longer fire, with the wind as it is here.

I kindle my night fire with the dried leaves of the marris or the tea tree that I keep stacked in tight bundles against the back wall, never a newspaper. Blackboy shards too. That copper rarely gives me a newspaper on his monthly sojourns to the inlet. But he was sure that I was to have this one.

I am not a fugitive, Iris. I am not guilty of murder. I am a Witness Of the Crown. That is why I am here. I am not a fugitive, Iris. I am not.

The foreman added the rider: We wish to add your honour,that we very much deplore the fact that Mr Clarke is not in the box too.

So the jury wanted Mr Clarke to swing as well. Mister Clarke. This I learned as I cleaned the lamp glasses tonight. This is what made me pen my letter to you, dear Iris. You may have heard many a story about me over the years but you were just a babe when I left. I want you to know what happened, Iris.