“Surprised,” Aaron said. “You cast an interesting light on some things I hadn’t considered. It’s given me a lot to think about.”

Wildsmith gave a quick smile, barely visible under the moustache. “Glad to be of use. You mentioned judgement before. I really don’t try to sit in judgement, or claim the right to do so. But I do think, if I can help people understand one another a bit more, that’s got to be a good thing.”

“What if you feel compelled to judge? If a young man brings in his sweetheart’s letter, and you conclude she’s a bad lot?”

“I don’t know I’d use that expression,” Wildsmith said. “I might read deception, or anger, or greed, or selfishness, but I’d try not to extrapolate that to This is a bad person.”

“But there are bad people. You can’t deny that. The prisons are full of them.”

“And the rest,” Wildsmith said, with unexpected feeling. “The average gaol will offer you bad people, people who made lots of bad decisions, people who made one bad decision, and people who were just very unlucky on one particular day.”

“True,” Aaron admitted. “But they all committed offences, all the same. They made the choices that put them in gaol, when other people made different choices in similar circumstances.”

“Similar circumstances? Like when the hungry child wickedly steals a penny bun from the baker’s, whereas the well-fed banker standing next to him nobly chooses to pay?”

“‘The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.’”

“Exactly!” Wildsmith said. “Did you just think of that? It’s jolly good.”

“Anatole France.” Aaron had been required to learn that line by heart. “I quite grant you that some people have fewer and harder choices than others, and that we could reduce crime if we reduced poverty. So let’s leave aside your hungry child, and look at your well-fed banker who’s planning to flee for South America having robbed his investors for years. Is he not a bad lot? Or do you decline to judge him too?”