There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. 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 listened with dumb fear in her eyes. . “I want to find an address. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. ” Diane gave permission quickly, evidently glad to get the girls out of the house.
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