His destination was the New Mint. His smile faded. “You do not know what you say. She thrashed and screamed as he wrestled her back towards the bed. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. She was nestled under his bedspread. ’ He clenched his fists and grew red in the face. 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.
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