"Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. The light of memory flashed in the man’s 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. I shall barely be in time for the theatre. Leave me my blanket! I'm very cold at night. He’s got flowers. " "Do so," replied Kneebone; "but remember the door is locked. The hansom drove off.
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