Brown was my preference for the velvet hanao of my wooden clogs.
Long eyelashes are a grace, like the long skirt.
I know that she is a clever young thing.
She was learned in the art of raising and dropping her curtain of eyelashes. That is the art of being enchanting. I had said that nothing could beat the beauty of my black eyes. But I see there are other pretty eyes in this world.
Everything doesn’t grow in Japan. Noses particularly.
My sweet Ada’s nose was an inspiration, like the snow-capped peak of O Fuji San. It rose calmly—how symmetrically!—from between her eyebrows.
I had thought that ’Merican nose was rugged, big of bone.
I see an exception in Ada.
She must be the pattern of Meriken beauty.
I felt that I was so very homely.