Explore "Blackmail!" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Long meekly suggested that dinner had been getting cold for some time, but Lance warned him aside impatiently. Nevertheless the most troubled of mortals must eat, though whether Lance was consuming bisque or chicken broth he could not have said.
He looked wearily down the perfectly appointed table, at the graceful ferns and flowers, and Stott's white face all the more pallid behind a screen of scarlet geraniums. And Stott seemed to be equally averse to his food. Long filled his champagne glass four times with a distant air. In Stott's eyes there was a fluctuating terror that Lance failed to see.