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. "Stir a foot, at your peril. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. "Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples. \" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. It was among artistic people. She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares.
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