"And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us. 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. It was clear by the look on her face that she decided to leave the house immediately. The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. ‘You will keep yourself utterly quiet,’ he instructed, a growl in her ear as they headed for the door.
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