Explore "The Wolf Pack" by Ridgwell Cullum on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The stillness was grave-like. The room was lit by a glimmer of light percolating through the thickly smoked glass of a kerosene lamp. The shadows were deep in the angles of the room, while around the stove, and on the table near by, upon which the lamp stood, the light was no more than sufficient for the barest visibility.
It was the office at the back of Pideau's store, that small, partitioned-off apartment where the half-breed was in the habit of seeking hours of brooding solitude, pondering the reflections of a disreputable life. Just now its atmosphere was heavy with tragedy, and Stanley Fyles would gladly have exchanged it for the more wholesome chill of the night outside.