Asako gave a penny into the crooked hand of one poor sightless wretch.

“Oh, no!” cried cousin Sadako; “do not go near to them.  Do not touch them.  They are lepers.”

Some of them had no arms, or had mere stumps ending abruptly in a red and sickening object like a bone which a dog has been chewing.  Some had no legs, and were pulled along on little wheeled trolleys by their less dilapidated companions in misfortune.  Some had no features.  Their faces were mere glabrous disks, from which eyes and nose had completely vanished; only the mouth remained, a toothless gap fringed with straggling hairs.  Some had faces abnormally bloated, with powerful foreheads and heavy jowls, which gave them an expression of stony immobility like Byzantine lions.  All were fearfully dirty and covered with sores and lice.

The people passing by smiled at their grim unsightliness, and threw pennies to them, for which they scrambled and scratched like beasts.

  Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o].

Asako’s relatives spent the day in eating, drinking and gossiping to the rhythm of the interminable prayer.

It was a perfect day of autumn, which is the sweetest season in Japan.  A warm bright sun had been shining on the sumptuous colours of the waning year, on the brilliant reds and yellows which clothed the neighbouring hills, on the broad brown plain with its tesselated design of bare rice-fields, on the brown villas and cottages huddled in their fences of evergreen like birds in their nests, on the red trunks of the cryptomeria trees, on the brown carpet of matted pine-needles, on the grey crumbling stones of the old graveyard, on the high-pitched temple roofs, and on the inconsequential swarms of humanity drifting to their devotions, casting their pennies into the great alms-trough in front of the shrine, clanging the brass bell with a prayer for good luck, and drifting home again with their bewildered, happy children.

Asako no longer felt like a Japanese.  The sight of her countrymen in their drab monotonous thousands sickened her.  The hiss and cackle of their incomprehensible tongue beat upon her brain with a deadly incessant sound, like raindrops to one who is impatiently awaiting the return of fine weather.

Here at Ikegami, the distant view of the sea and the Yokohama shipping invited Asako to escape.  But where could she escape to?  To England.  She was an Englishwoman no longer.  She had cast her husband off for insufficient reasons.  She had been cold, loveless, narrow-minded and silly.  She had acted, as she now recognised, largely on the suggestion of others.  Like a fool she had believed what had been told.  She had not trusted her love for her husband.  As usual, her thoughts returned to Geoffrey, and to the constant danger which threatened him.  Lately, she had started to write a letter to him several times, but had never got further than “Dearest Geoffrey.”