"You dropped this, sir. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. I’m a desperate young woman. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. 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. Farewell. “I feared we might have a fog. When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. On the fifth day he had ventured speech with her. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked.
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