’ ‘Dear me. 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. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. If the principal instigator of the crime, whom I afterwards encountered on the platform, and who was dashed into the raging flood by the shower of bricks, escaped, his preservation must have been indeed miraculous. Certainly not a gentlewoman. And then they disgorged. This he accomplished by holding the chain that connected them firmly between his teeth, and squeezing his fingers as closely together as possible, succeeded in drawing his wrists through the manacles. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. "I'm almost afraid to state it," faltered the other; "but, may I ask whether Mr. I really cannot have anything to do with Mr. Sebastian was always a man who felt the need to surround himself with the trappings of the finer life.
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