The body of Sir Rowland was then laid on the large table. 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. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. "In Canton. He smiled. ***** At the end of each day Ah Cum would inquire as to the progress of the patient, and invariably the answer was: "About the same. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have come here. ” “Why do you think so?” she asked.
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