The Mis-Rule of Three by Florence Warden — Read

Southerley dropped his head into his hands. His friend said nothing. What could he say? He did not like the look of those two strong, nervous hands with the sinews standing up like cords. He began to hum to himself, and to make a clatter with his hair-brushes.

Then Southerley looked up abruptly, his face haggard and wet.