I'll be outside the hotel at nine-thirty. 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. I will remember them, Sebastian, along with my mother and father, and all the others I came to love and lose. Understand me. He rose slowly and extended it. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones.
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