" "Tell it. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. Lucy changed into her Goodwill jeans and sweatshirt, plastering her hair down with an elastic band and securing it under a tight hood. 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. "Fold it … under the pillow. ‘Don’t dare call her that to my face. I told her I was sick today and she told me to get over myself.
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