"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. Stanley wanted to object strongly, but as he could not immediately think how to put it, he contented himself with a grunt, and the motion was carried. Spurlock stared at Ruth across the rim of his bowl. 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. More than half the city perished. Here, put it on your finger. What happened at Dollis Hill 449 XXIX. She entered the last room, his bedroom.
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