Yet her embarrassment was only a passing thing. The whole neighbourhood was disturbed. ’ The things she said and did from you—seem impossible. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. Had he been sick in the mind when he had done this damnable thing? It did not seem possible, for he could recall clearly all he had said and done; there were no blank spaces to give him one straw of excuse. 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. With a strong tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in its display. “She must,” said Mr. “I will have your true reason. Mr.
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