"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. ” “So it would have been at the English Embassy,” Courtlaw answered, “but the place to which you went was not the English Embassy. “Some day,” she answered. 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.
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