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. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. Presently she saw Spurlock on the way to the lagoon. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. ” On the inside she felt her muscles loosen with relief. Instead, her husband was probably wise. Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective. ” “Please tell me why?” she asked.
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