Explore "A Monk of Cruta" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Love, blossoming in the roses, holds a dagger in her hands. "
We were alone, Paul and I, in that great, solemn room, full of pale, phantom-like lights and quivering shadows. He was standing a few yards away from me, with his head half averted, and his eyes full of a great, hopeless despair. In silence I approached him, and took his death-cold hand in mine.