They are tending to congregate, our poor French friends. 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. I was looking for rooms last week. Courtlaw might have been able to give me an idea where to stop. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos.
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