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. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen you lately,’ and something about ‘Bateson & Co. Andrews novels, her collection of old teddy bears, Paddington 2 minus his yellow hat, a yellowing white bear won in a carnival with one eye missing.
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