exam. 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. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. That’s why I come to tell you. " Spurlock, who was absorbing this talk thirstily, laughed. "Rowland," she rejoined, "you strive in vain to terrify me into compliance with your wishes. He's as savage and suspicious as the devil himself. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed. “Not at all. Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. He seemed safe from the sickness, having been surrounded by the dying, he had witnessed the carnage up close and yet his health still prevailed. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. I had no idea. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley.
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