The particulars of her engagement were very clear in her memory. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. ’ Melusine’s voice petered out. She moved forward almost indiscernibly, a millimeter. 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 did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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