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 dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. ‘When you say it like this, certainly it appears absurd. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. “I’m fine,” she said softly. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. Teddy Widgett hovered on the fringe of all these gatherings, blinking at Ann Veronica and occasionally making a wildly friendly dash at her, and carrying her and Miss Miniver off to drink cocoa with a choice diversity of other youthful and congenial Fabians after the meetings. Had to. He seemed too noisy.
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