‘Now then, girl. I have weird skin. Brendon. My Mom and Dad were always 184 at work. Gerald’s judgement was borne out a moment later. He fondled her naked breasts with his fingers, then his mouth. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. 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. ‘Home?’ ‘To your family.
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