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. “Good God!” he exclaimed. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. "Once for all, I shall go. I have hurt and snubbed poor Teddy. She thrashed and screamed as he wrestled her back towards the bed. I've come all these miles for this young fellow; but I don't cotton to the idea of lallygagging four weeks in this burg.
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