“It will spoil your life. 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 nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. As to Jack Sheppard, he appeared utterly reckless and insensible, and did nothing but whistle and sing the whole way. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise.
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