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. She did not remember him, but he said that he had introduced himself to her when she was visiting the butcher's family. ’ He became aware of his friend’s face before him. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. There were no mourners.
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