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. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. ” He sat like a man turned to stone. Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. She had not seen Ramage for ten or eleven days, and she was quite ready for a gossip with him. . She was silent. . ’ The girl held out her hands.
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