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One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. It's never a bad day that has a good ending. She had found him! Excitement welled. 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. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said. One cannot trust any man at all.
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