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. “For one thing I am going to marry David Courtlaw. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. ’ ‘Don’t call me by name,’ she snapped. The guineas are not for serving your mistress. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. ” “I promise,” he answered heartily.
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