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“Lucy? Ms. That boy," he added, looking at Thames, "has his eye upon us. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. 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. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him.
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