"
"Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which
would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language. "
"No fear of that," rejoined Rowland: "such vermin never dare to show
themselves in this privileged district. She had turned round sideways, so
as to look down into the fire. Likely as not outside the
law, too. It’s not you—not a bit. The last piece was Scheherazade. But I had to know for sure. Sheila found out. She turned a resolute face southward. To fight inertia on the one hand and to study this queer girl on the other. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. 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.
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