"Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Ann Veronica sat back with a sigh of relief. But he wrote on. Ruth could not be told now. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. Mr. A moistened velvet touch found her tongue. 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. She crawled over and caught at the skirts of this white woman who understood.
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