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. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. “You can keep him at arm’s length. He walked across the Park and called upon his sister. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met.
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