“Are there others like you?” “Yes. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. “Whither away?” he said, very distinctly in a curiously wheedling voice. “Hi. It’s a world of dirt and skin diseases and parasites. E. \" Lucy replied sardonically. 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. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him.
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