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. You have been burning paper, I see. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. So I made haste and recovered. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. ” Anna drummed impatiently with her fingers against the arm of her chair.
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