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 noticed right away that Sheila was a two-sided coin. I don’t suggest any philanthropy. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. ‘Trespasses,’ supplied Gerald. “To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. And I have made such arrangements that at my decease tardy justice will be done my injured nephew. “No,” she answered, reluctantly.
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