The lazy halt of a moment on the street must have been regarded, I fancied, as a violation of the law.
I wondered whether one dozen were not slain each hour on Market Street by the cars.
Cars! Cars! And cars!
It was no use to look beautiful in such a cyclone city. Not even one gentleman moved his admiring eyes to my face.
How sad!
I thought it must be some festival.
“No, the usual Saturday throng!” my uncle said.
Then I asked myself whether Tokio streets were only like a midnight of this city.
My beloved minister kept his mouth open—what heavy lips he had!—amazed at the high edifices.
“O ho, that’s astonishing!” he cried, throwing his sottish eyes on the clock of the Chronicle building.