. 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. Good night. At a turn in the road, he perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand. . She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. She turned there and beckoned.
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