What a tickling dizziness I tasted!
I close my eyes when it goes.
It’s an awfully new thing, I reckon.
Something on the same plan, I imagine, as a “seriage” of the Japanese stage for a footless ghost rising to vanish.
It is astonishing to notice what a condescending manner the white gentlemen display toward ladies.
They take off their hats in the elevator—some showing such a great bald head, like a funny O Binzuru, that is as common as spectacled children—if any woman is present. They stand humbly as Japs to the august “Son of Heaven.” They crawl out like lambs after the woman steps away.
It puzzles me to solve how women can be deserving of such honour.
What a goody-goody act!
But I wonder how they behave themselves before God!
23rd—It is delightful to sit opposite the whitest of linen and—to portray on it the face of an imaginary Mr. Sweetheart while eating.