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"What's this here kinchen in for?" asked Terence, as he and Quilt strode along, with Thames between them. 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. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. Wild has made up his mind, and, when that's the case, all the persuasion on earth won't turn him. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs.
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