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 have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. He told her something about music, the great world outside. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. She swallowed hard.
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