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“Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over. 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. A boy like John’s dashing friend David Mitchell, someone who shares your love of academics. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. “Oh, dammit!” he remarked, “dammit!” with great bitterness as he faced it. To Spurlock's observing eye, Enschede's wrinkles multiplied and the folds in his clothes. F.
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