’ ‘This is not a new thing,’ Melusine snapped, goaded. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. “I will have your true reason. 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. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. An hour later the doctor arrived; and after a thorough examination, he looked doubtful.
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