14th—I bustled back to my room.
My breast throbbed.
A naked woman in an oil painting stood before me in the hall.
Is Mrs. Willis a lady worthy of respect?
It is nothing but an insulting stroke to an Oriental lady—yes sir, I’m a lady—to expose such an obscenity.
I brought down one of my crape haoris, raven-black in hue, with blushing maple leaves dispersed on the sleeves, and cloaked the honourable picture.
My haori wasn’t long enough.
The feet of the nude woman were all seen.
I have not the least objection to the undraped feet. They were faultless in shape.
I myself am free to bestow a glimpse of my beautiful feet.