When I thought that that moon must have been visiting in my dearest home of Tokio, the tragic scene of my “Sayonara, mother!” instantly returned.
Tears on my cheeks!
Morning, 21st—Three P.M. of to-day!
At last!
Beautiful Miss Morning Glory shall land on her dream-land, Amerikey.
That’s my humble name, sir.
18 years old.
(Why does the ’Merican lady regard it as an insult to be asked her own age?)
My knitting work wasn’t half done. I look upon it as an omen that I shall have no luck in meeting with my husband.
Tsumaranai! What a barren life!