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. The fascination of the idea of throwing
himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began
to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his
direction, the hand clenched tightly. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly.
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