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. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife. . Thinks they’re the same as soldiers. So completely! The oddest fitness! What is it made of? Texture of skin and texture of mind? Complexion and voice. Treat me as an elder brother, if you like. She could not bear the shame of it. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. Wood, (for I never do anything without consulting my better half,) I'll take the boy, educate him, and bring him up to my own business of a carpenter. “Let me add too that I am thankful for your decision.
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