One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Accordingly, he proceeded to a gate which stood upon the south, and guarded the passage communicating with the leads. But God did not put you next door. Irregularly, in a quite inglorious and unromantic way, you know, I am a vicious man. 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.
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