There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. "Oh! if I had known this," he exclaimed, "what guilt, what remorse might have been spared me!" "Repentance comes too late when the deed's done," returned Wild, bitterly. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation.
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