Explore "The Shame of Motley" by Rafael Sabatini on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
On tiptoe I crept down that corridor to the gallery above the banqueting- hall, secure from sight in the enveloping darkness, and intent upon allowing no sound to betray my presence, lest Ramiro should have awakened. Behind me, treading as lightly, came Messer Mariani.
Thus we gained the gallery. I leaned against the stout oaken balustrade, and looked down into the black pit of the hall, broken in the centre by the circle of light from the two tapers that burnt upon the table. The other torches had all been quenched.