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I have never spoken of these things to any human being. 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. That is what my mother used to call me. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. Sheppard returned no answer. "I wonder," said Ruth. " "I promise to ask no more. She recoiled. You were very good. You told him there wasn't anything in the pockets?" "Yes. Miss Klegg and the youngest girl made a vigorous attack on Miss Garvice, who had said she thought women lost something infinitely precious by mingling in the conflicts of life.
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