Her name is O Fuji San.
Mrs. Wistaria brought a box of cigarettes that my uncle had ordered.
The morning is unoccupied in such a retail shop. Nobody puffs much before lunch. She set herself in a tête-à-tête.
The chastity of a wife may be measured by her solo on her husband. Woman’s greatest joy often lies in lamenting the faults of her teishu.
Mrs. Wistaria spoke of her husband’s being ill. I was to accept any chance for squandering my feelings. I sympathised, repeating, “Komaru nei! How sad!”
She said that she was going to leave the city for a week for the spring of San Jose, to take care of her infirm dear.
“I fear I may lose my customers,” she flagged.
Her husband was afflicted with rheumatism.
I promised to call at her store.
Japs never visit an invalid without a present.