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“You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. But come, sir. The night was now profoundly dark. ” “She’ll meet somebody one of these days—walking about like that. Sheppard remained dissolved in tears. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. 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.
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