Mrs. Lewis L. Delafield’s limousine stood in front of the doors at almost every trial and it meant a great deal to the defendants to have the wife of one of the most eminent members of the New York bar in the courtroom. By her very demeanor and looks—white-haired, a fragile countenance—you knew she could touch nothing that was not fine, and that she had the spiritual courage to stand by her ideas and ideals in both her public and private life. Always she opened her home and her heart and her arms to those she loved. Fania was called first. She was a girl with a pale and delicate face, and was too worried to bear the strain. She should not be punished for co-operating, and I told J.J. to notify the court that she was not well, though I strictly forbade him to say anything about my health. Her trial was brief, narrowing itself down to whether _What Every Girl Should Know_ was to be classed as indecent. A few days later she was found guilty and sentenced to fifty dollars’ fine, a decision which was eventually reversed on appeal. It surprised me that in my trial the prosecution should be carried on so vehemently, because the prosecutor had little to prove. To me there seemed to be no argument at all; the last thing in my mind was to deny having given birth control advice. Certainly I had violated the letter of the law, but that was what I was opposing. I grew more and more puzzled by the stilted language, the circumlocutions, the respect for precedent. These legal battles, fought in a curiously unreal world, intensified my defiance to the breaking point. I longed for a discussion in the open on merit and in simple, honest terms. I thought I might have my wish when Judge Freschi, holding up a cervical cap which the prosecuting attorney had put in evidence, said, “Who can prove this is a violation; the law states that contraception is permitted for the prevention of disease. May it not be used for medical reasons?” This question raised my hopes high. At last the law might be interpreted according to the definition I so desired; ill health resulting from pregnancy caused by lack of its use might be construed as disease. Then one by one the Brownsville mothers were called to the stand to answer the District Attorney. “Have you ever seen Mrs. Sanger before?” “Yess. Yess, I know Mrs. Sanger.” “Where did you see her?” “At the cleenic.” “Why did you go there?” “To have her stop the babies.” The witness bowed sweet acknowledgment to me until she was peremptorily commanded to address the court. “Did you get this information?” “Yess. Yess, dank you, I got it. It wass gut, too.” “Enough,” the District Attorney barked, and called another. Time after time they gave answers that were like nails to seal my doom, yet each thought she was assisting me. J.J. saw how their testimony could be turned to our advantage.