He set the broth on the ledge and took a step out into the storm. He blinked hard once then twice to clear his failing eyes. The light was out and yet.he could still see the flickering, yellow flow of its existence in the narrow arrow loop on the tower's next higher level. Then the torch was back.full and strong.if beleaguered by the gusts. Then again it was out. He stepped further into the maelstrom.and stared.and wished for better eyes. He could make no sense of it. It was queer. He resigned himself to cross the wall's expanse and properly investigate.then a shiver ran through him thoroughly like a bolt of lightning.ice cold lightning. He wiped furiously at the freezing rain that blurred his eyes. It was not the torch. It was something else.between the torch and him.blocking the light. It was something.else. Something big.and looming bigger. Something moving.and moving toward him He turned to go back for his spear.but he never made it. There was little difference between death and the night. Except.that death felt a little warmer.

The professional life of a trial lawyer can be unique because of the variety of the subject matter of his cases. John F. Corrigan was very fortunate to be thrust into situations and cases with a great deal of that variety. He never really knew in advance if he was going to be working on an accounting problem, class action securities cases, contract disputes, land valuation questions, anti trust cases, medical malpractice, doctor's privileges to work in hospitals, personal injury or product liability cases, real estate or title problems, family disputes, or contested trusts or estates. This book tells the stories of some of his experiences in the preparation and trial of these diverse cases in the second half of the twentieth century.

He set the broth on the ledge and took a step out into the storm. He blinked hard once then twice to clear his failing eyes. The light was out and yet.he could still see the flickering, yellow flow of its existence in the narrow arrow loop on the tower's next higher level. Then the torch was back.full and strong.if beleaguered by the gusts. Then again it was out. He stepped further into the maelstrom.and stared.and wished for better eyes. He could make no sense of it. It was queer. He resigned himself to cross the wall's expanse and properly investigate.then a shiver ran through him thoroughly like a bolt of lightning.ice cold lightning. He wiped furiously at the freezing rain that blurred his eyes. It was not the torch. It was something else.between the torch and him.blocking the light. It was something.else. Something big.and looming bigger. Something moving.and moving toward him He turned to go back for his spear.but he never made it. There was little difference between death and the night. Except.that death felt a little warmer.