Explore "The Scales of Justice" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The candle flared in the draught from the window. George Drummond remarked the wax guttering down as one notes trivial details in times of danger. He could hear the footsteps outside drawing nearer. Nobody moved, the little group were fascinated. With eyes half closed, the little white bride clung to her lover.
George was the first to recover himself. Another moment and everything would be lost. His military training and instinct came to his help. It was no time for sentiment. Kindly but firmly he untwined the girl's arms from Gilbert Doyle's neck and pushed him towards the door. The poor creature seemed to feel what was in the air, her clouded brain told her there was a crisis.