Explore "The Scales of Justice" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
George dropped back half angry and half ashamed. He had a burning desire now to be up and doing, to get away from here, even if it were into the black throat of the night. A snarling breath of wind shook the old house; there was a lash of thin snow on the windows. Exposure on a night like this meant death.
Flora seemed to divine what was passing through the mind of her guest, for she smiled faintly. The faded figure in the armchair nodded. Just for a moment her face lighted up, and then George saw what a naturally noble countenance it was. The features were vaguely familiar to him. He wondered where he had seen them before.