"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. ‘This is insupportable. The man Hill has persecuted me for months—ever since I have been in England. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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