” “As sentinel. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. Are you sure what it is you want of me?” “I want you. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. “The Widgetts,” she said. And so Winifred understood 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. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. " "No; she accepts it," rejoined Jonathan, triumphantly.
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