Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. 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. Always the other things remained. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. \" He looked crestfallen. ” Ennison laughed softly.
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