Norrell is twitchy. It is the only sort of word to describe his very particular mood, like an agitated animal. Norrell is nervous and angry all at once, a thing which is common enough to him. Courage, Mr Norrell, Childermass had told him. Yet Norrell always finds that when the weight of anticipation is heavy upon a moment his courage fails entirely. He is in danger of stuttering in his nerves, desiring only to escape to the safety of his library and secret himself away.

Still, he does his best to set steel to his fine -- expression twitching with control as he reins in his temper.

"We were so close to winning Croydon," he is saying. "And it is sympathisers who are weakening our cause. They speak of negotiation and caution, they do not understand. Miss Widdowson had the nerve to come to me and ask me to overlook her attempt to take Croydon. The nerve of it! The nerve to speak to me of wanting less bloodshed, when she conspires with the fae! When she attacks our territories and murders our witches in the streets!"

He takes a breath, lets it out slowly and tries to come to a point.

"And it is my belief -- and Childermass' own too, he has looked into this -- that one of your own is a sympathiser too. On the Night Council. That your own High Priestess, Miss Absin, is conspiring with Midnight Witches. I have seen Miss Widdowson coming and going from these very headquarters myself. I know she is trying to gain herself a seat here. It cannot be allowed."