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. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. I sha’n’t care a rap if we can never marry. It is no good going into that. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another. Sheppard, disregarding the taunt, "come away. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. It was a pity he didn't break his neck, for he was hanged within the year. You lie about your past all the time and you know it. Makes one want to go back to the Oriental system!” Mr. ’ ‘But it is stupide. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen.
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