In their Wisdom by C.P. Snow

The Law Courts were not old, but they could strike so. Jenny and Liz were not old, but up there, in the Appeal Court number two, they were waiting to hear a decision about themselves in a fashion which was about as old as law. For both of them, it was the only decision, or piece of official news, that might make a difference to them: and it was coming as it would have done generations before, face to face with the deciders, without any mechanical aids, by word of mouth.

On the dais sat three Lord Justices, Fowke, Shingler, and Gimson, bewigged, Fowke presiding, looking somewhat like an incisive long-headed Arab, interventions courteous but subliminally irritable. Shingler was heavier, more considerate and gentle. Gimson was a small plump man, who appeared to relax into dormouse reverie. (Their title of Lord Justices might have been invented to baffle foreigners: they weren't lords, though the job carried a knighthood. They were less elevated than Lords of Appeal in Ordinary, who sounded humbler but actually were made lords, and sat in a committee room in the House.) The Appeal Court number two was broader than long, rather like Sedgwick's college rooms magnified and equipped with a gothic glass-windowed roof: panelled walls, bookcases with sets of shining volumes, a chandelier dominating the centre of the court, six wall-lights behind the dais. Unlike the lower court in which Bosanquet had sat, this contained only three rows of benches for spectators: which didn't matter, since (lawyers, Liz, Mrs Underwood, Julian, Jenny and Lorimer aside) there were no spectators at all. Except for Ryle who came in after half an hour on the Thursday morning, and sat behind Liz.