The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. John knew better. ’ Her breath tightened and she was obliged to control an inner ferocity. 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 never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. All sorts of considerations come in. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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