" Enschede stepped into the proa, and the natives shoved off. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. " Upon which, Mr. ‘I’m following a scent. " "The deuce he has!" cried Dump. 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. Only she sent me a message, and together we found a cottage for her to stay at.
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