It was at his side below the breast, hidden by the dark colour of his close-fitting jacket. 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. Of course, it was ridiculous, this inclination to assist the fugitive, based as it was upon an intangible university idea. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. He couldn't have taken Mr. ” “Right!” he said, and hesitated, and then got up and went into the preparationroom. In some incomprehensible way that back view made her feel sorry for Alice.
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