“Utsukushii nah! Lovely!”
Then she found her face again in the well-mirror, thinking what a charming O Hana San it would make with the flowers on her hair.
My worthy readers, I suppose it is the time some one must enter.
He came.
He was a little boy.
I will not mention his name just yet.
He came close to her and pinched her little back. Both blushed, facing each other. They were quite strangers.
The evening zephyrs stirred the cherry blossoms. They planted themselves silently among the falling petals, as ethereal as snow.
“I delight to stand in the storm of petals, don’t you?” Hana inclined her head a trifle in speaking.
The woman always speaks first.