It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. 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. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage.
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