He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. 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. ” “If he lives through the next hour,” the doctor answered, “I will send some one. I give you the plain, unadulterated truth. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom.
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