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. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. "O'ons! Captain," cried Blueskin, as he grumblingly obeyed the command; "if you've left off business yourself, you needn't interfere with other people. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. "Even if you are not a principal, you are an accessory. ’ The old man simply stared at her. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of.
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