“MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. Manning, abruptly. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. I have established a fine trade. 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 never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. ” He said cruelly as she gazed at him in fear. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives.
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