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An hour later the doctor arrived; and after a thorough examination, he looked doubtful. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. " "Very interesting," said the Chinaman, with a wave of his tapering hand toward the roofs. 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. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. I want you. Here a little delay occurred.
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