“I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. I know life. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. “Child!” he cried. "You're not out yet, you young hound," rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door.
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