"W-what are you talking about, My Lord?" the magistrate inquired, his hands trembling as they held the teacup, spilling the tea within. "Oh, my apologies. I should go and clean this up," he restlessly placed the teacup back to the table, as if he was in a haste to go and hide somewhere, even if it was only for a short moment.
"Please don't mind the tea," Luke said, crossing his legs, "Why don't you come and sit here, sir? I would love to exchange a few words with you, my most dedicated employee," he beckoned for him to sit on the sofa right across us, giving him his most charming smile.
Seeing that there was no way out of the situation, the magistrate soon complied, but was still looking for ways to conceal his wrongdoings. Despite his older age, he took a seat politely, clasping both his hands together—perhaps to hide the beads of sweat on his palms.
