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She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. 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. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. Arrived at the secret door, she grasped the lever that opened it and placed the lantern on the floor. Nothing is wrong that you do. What he there noticed occasioned a marked change in his demeanour. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding.
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