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. Do
you think I forget it? Didn't they help themselves to all the plate and the money
—to several of my best dresses, and amongst others, to my favourite kincob
gown; and I've never been able to get another like it! Marry, come up! I'd hang
'em all, if I could. Even in her painting smock and with her
disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. "From Lady Trafford's, where I took the box. ‘Parbleu, but I find that this is excessively clever, this passage. Besides—there
is Sir John. His face was white. Shari regaled Lucy with soap operatic tales of boy-girl
intrigues at the high school, then spoke of her aspirations
for the future.
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