It’s well hidden, miss. It was a shame that they had made such a fuss, she thought as he arrived. “Come on in, Michelle. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. 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. Michelle awoke suddenly, violently. She has already forgotten it. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive.
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