" CHAPTER XX To Spurlock it seemed as if a great iron door had swung in behind him, shutting out the old world. “You certainly are. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. "Back!" he cried fiercely. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. 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. " "How have you procured these things?" asked Thames, in the utmost astonishment. " "And leave you thus?" rejoined Jack. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar.
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