"Leave me alone with him a moment," said Jonathan. But Blueskin found it impossible to make off,—at least with the spoil,—Mrs. "You poor child!" said Prudence. "See her I will. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. 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. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. Enjoy.
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