Go to her, I say, and take her in your arms, you poor benighted Ironsides! I can't make you see. What you said wanted saying. Mr. 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. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. “I’m so glad my Mom’s letting me go out tonight. ” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you.
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