I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. ‘Whereas my need was very great indeed. Thought she was a nun at first. I understand. You ignore me! That’s not a good way to treat your only friend. 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 Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. Manning might go on now idealizing her as much as he liked.
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