Ruth loved him. We leave this room together. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. Youth! You denied me even that," said Ruth, her glance now flashing to her father. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. 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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