The man was dangerous. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. 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. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. . The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. A boy attempted to follow; but as the suspicions of the lookers-on were roused by the previous circumstances, the younger fugitive was seized and detained. There was hope for me then. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. " "Because this child's life was threatened by the persons you have mentioned," rejoined Wood. . ” Sir John breathed a long deep sigh.
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