And he had destroyed all this. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. Thought she was a nun at first. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. 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. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess. " Ten minutes later, the doctor, having marshalled all his facts chronologically, began his tale. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you.
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