I certainly didn’t mean to kiss you. ’ ‘It’s no use blaming me, Gerald,’ uttered Roding, shrugging helplessly as his senior turned questioning eyes on him. His analytical bent saved him many times, though he was not sensitive to this. 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 young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. . “I will send you a copy,” Mr. F. Wood. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. .
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