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She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. In fact, Mr. ” “I suppose so. “Please, Michelle, let’s not fight. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. 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.
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