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. He pulled away. " "I cannot consent to it," replied Sir Rowland firmly. ” Her mind went off to Capes. I’m okay. It pained Lucy to see Mike eating so sparely. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over. . ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut.
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