E. "He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. For freedom at least. 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. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. ” “I am rebuked,” she declared. His expression became pained.
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