And now they walked together, she effortlessly, like silk waved in air. He seemed to walk more easily, too. He no longer panted. The long grasses, the persimmon trees and the bamboo groves went by.
He carried a press camera and a bag full of bulbs, but they no longer seemed heavy.
"Nice of them to send you," he told the girl.
She laughed. There are tinkling strips of glass hung in a Japanese garden in summer for their cool sound. She laughed like this. "Naito-san has reason for sending me. He always has reason."
"Naito-san?"
"He is Obo—the high priest, you say in English. He taught me English."
"And your name?"
"Yuki."
"That can mean snow or flower," said Blair.
"You know Japanese writing?"