Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. You may well say it's impossible! His Majesty's jail of Newgate is admirably guarded, I must say. It’s a mismatch. You women, with your tricks of evasion, you’re a sex of swindlers. "Took a great fancy to you. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. 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 assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t. ’ Gerald suppressed a grin. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly.
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