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. I shall find him yet. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. “Turn me. You’re NOT to go. ‘That’s not much comfort. " "You're a damn fool, too!" exploded the trader. I've seen many cases like it.
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