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officer who appeared to be returning to Kure, a group of women busily chattering in the broad Ōsaka dialect. Yoshiko's father spread a white blanket lengthwise on the seat on which he and Yoshiko sat, placing his small case between them. An electric lamp in the interior of the coach shone on Yoshiko's face, which glistened as if carved in relief. Mr. Yokoyama came to the window of the coach and several times expressed his great gratitude to Tokio, requesting that he take care of everything that they had left behind in Tokyo. Tokio kept standing near the window of the coach, attired in his silk haori and a brown-felt hat.
The time of departure drew near. Tikio thought of the coming journey and Yoshiko's future. It seemed to him that there was an everlasting bond between Yoshiko and him. No doubt, Tokio would have married Yoshiko if he did not have a wife. Yoshiko might have been willing to become his wife. She would have been able to comfort him in the unbearable agonies of creative writing, helping his literary work and fulfill his ideals. Yoshiko might have been able to comfort his present desolate soul. Tokio recalled Yoshiko's words to his wife, "Why wasn't I born a little earlier? Had I been born in the same period as you, I would have been much happier..." Was it possible that fate would never allow him to call Yoshiko his wife? Would he never be able to call her father his father-in-law? Life is long, fate has strange powers. In view of the fact that she had lost her virginity--after she had broken her chastity, this might make it easier for her to become the wife of a middle-aged man who had many children. Fate and life--Tokio remembered having once
