“I must explain to her. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. Good night! God bless you!" Upon this, there was a great shaking of hands, with renewed apologies and protestations of friendship on both sides; after which Mr. He’s got flowers. Why hadn't he gone on with the girl's story? What instinct had stuffed it back into his throat? Why the inexplicable impulse to hurry this rather pathetic derelict on his way? CHAPTER XV Previous to his illness, Spurlock's mind had been tortured by an appalling worry, so that now, in the process of convalescence, it might be compared to a pool which had been violently stirred: there were indications of subsidence, but there were still strange forms swirling on the surface—whims and fancies which in normal times would never have risen above sub-consciousness. "And, oh! forgive me, though I can never forgive myself, for the misery I have caused you. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly.
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