“What is your name?” he asked gently.
A hesitation in drawing breath, then the answer, which sounded as though he were listening for something: “Josaphat....”
“What will you do now, Josaphat?”
They sank. They sank. As they passed through the great hall the enormous windows of which overlooked the street of bridges, broadly and ostentatiously, Freder saw, on turning his head, outlined against the blackness of the sky, already half extinguished, the dripping word: “Yoshiwara....”
He spoke as if stretching out both hands, as just if closing his eyes in speaking:
“Will you come to me, Josaphat?”
A hand fluttered up like a scared bird.
“I—?” gasped the stranger.
“Yes, Josaphat.”
The young voice so full of kindness....