Perfect solitude is when, for a whole day, no human eye has beheld your face. It does one good to know that no human eye has seen you, and that the glass that mirrors your features is, as yet, unsullied by the breath of another.
Solitude is apt to make one superstitious. One naturally casts about him for some external support.
It always alarms me when, on beginning work in the morning, one of my tools drops from my hand. I feel that the day which begins thus will prove a sad and troubled one. I fight down this superstitious feeling.
He who possesses a firm faith, although in solitude, is not alone.
My master is always out of humor. His wife and three daughters assist him at his work. Hansei has advanced the pay for my lessons. I am an apt pupil.
I notice that these people regard me as slightly demented. The little pitchman informed me that Hansei had given out this report, intending that it should serve as a sort of invisible cap. This gives me liberty and yet protects me, but at times it makes me feel uneasy.
My master also thinks that I am out of my mind. He addresses me cautiously, and is delighted when he finds that I have understood him.