Explore "The Devil's Advocate" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Philp glanced down just for a moment at Farrell, and saw that he was deadly pale, with a fine bead of perspiration on his forehead. He half rose to his feet, but dropped back again as Philp laid a hand upon his shoulder.
"Not quite yet," he murmured. "I wouldn't try and get away, if I were you. It's too late."