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 have weird skin. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight. "Set down the kid," roared Blueskin, savagely. *** Madame la Comtesse de St Erme regarded the English major with a lacklustre eye, Gerald thought. The note-passer lagged behind with her. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom.
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