” She said, knowing that his kindness was certainly not the primary motivation for his magnum opus. She opened one and found herself in a large untidy room set with chairs that were a little disarranged as if by an overnight meeting. 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. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. I don’t know what has come over me. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively. .
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