He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. 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. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. “No. Let me lie in Willesden churchyard. He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss. ‘Jacques, do not die while I am gone. He was staring at her, openly gaping.
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