He drew a chair to the side of the bed and sat down, terrified by the utter fallowness of his mind. 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. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. They then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber. "I am not to be deceived. And the woollen-draper departed. “I have not the least idea who he is. ” She was silent. . E. “Thank you—and good-bye. “What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully.
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