“Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. In the distance a bell clanged, and chattering broke out in the doorway as several nuns came crowding in. 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. Twenty-one, twenty-two. “We will do Paris like the tourists, and thank God here comes dinner.
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