I don’t care WHAT happens. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. 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 put back her hood in a determined way. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. ’ Gerald could not resist. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother.
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