She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. “It seems to me it comes to earning one’s living in the long run,” said Ann Veronica, coloring faintly. He’ll survive. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. 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. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him.
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