Explore "The Profiteers" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Wingate from the first had a prescience of disagreeable things. There was malice in Dredlinton's pallid face, the ugly twist of his lips and the light in his bloodshot eyes. He paused opposite to them, and leaning his hands on the back of the nearest chair, spoke across the table.
"Hullo, Flossie! " he exclaimed. "How are you, old dear? How are you, Wingate?"