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. “Lots of ‘em!”
Capes chuckled. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had
the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve
stolen a horse from a priest?’
‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly.
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