He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. I’ve been smoking cigarettes in the preparation-room and thinking this out. 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. We both understood that. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated.
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