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. It’s not far from twilight. He did not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also unsympathetic. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. ’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured.
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