The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “I don’t think I shall. ” “Yes,” said Ann Veronica. " "We found all his pockets empty. 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. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. Perhaps in the beginning the women made fools of themselves over him. . We have to hang about in the interval. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. She wanted to kiss his feet. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below.
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