Explore "A Crime on Canvas" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
WITH a heart beating thick and fast Lawrence smoothed out the bearskin and disclosed the still, silent form which had been huddled up so horribly in the folds of the fur. He knew exactly what he was going to find. He needed no one to tell him what had come to light. For some time there had been a heavy feeling of oppression upon him, that sort of sick sense that most of us feel before the blighting blow of tragedy comes out of the blue with all the extra force of the unexpected. There was no reason to glance more than once at the white, set face. He murmured to himself that Victor Le Blanc was beyond further powers of mischief.
Nevertheless, the shock was tremendous, and for a while Lawrence could only stand gasping as if he himself had been the murderer, and the dead man lying at his feet the victim of his own uncontrollable passion.