"He's not to blame," said Jack, rising. I wonder if he really wants me to go home. 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. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of
correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was
concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on
flinging—such considerations to the wind. Besides, I
don't think he's going to ask, if that is what you are
getting at. He
remembered also, all at once, the very first words he had heard her speak: “I was
not born to this. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. She
descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. The odd creak was not to be avoided in an old house such as this. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. 1. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness
intervened between the ceremony and the walls. I want to know what you are doing; how you think
this work of yours really does serve women.
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