They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. 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. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. “Those things are not for me just at present. It was obvious that he had waited for her. He trembled violently.
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