" "My negligence, Mr. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. He made his headquarters at the Victoria on the Sha-mien, and generally met the Hong-Kong packet in the morning. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. The attempt was unsuccessful. Remember what the conjuror said.
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