Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. "Curse him!" muttered Abraham. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. I hardly see you anymore. 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. “Didn’t you just get over an ear infection not two weeks ago? You’re asking for another one. ’ *** Gerald Alderley stepped out of a house he had been visiting in Hamilton Place and the door closed behind him. By the time John returned with popcorn and a large Coke, the theater had filled up with high-school kids. She followed the official back into his room.
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