successfully from his college, how he had started his own magazine in co-operation with a few of his friends, and many other things about him. As time went on, she learnt more and more, for her sister would write and give her all the news about her husband. But somehow she had no wish to hear so much. Then one day she found a story written by Shunkichi in some magazine, and again her yearning for him welled up in her heart. As she turned over the pages of his story, she smiled again and again. In his writing she again detected the same jokes and sneers. They were as sharp and cutting as the attacks the ancient warrior Miyamoto-Musashi made with his wonderful sword. It even seemed to her that behind her cousin’s satire there lurked something desperate which had never appeared in his writing before. But she realised that perhaps it was her own conscience which made her notice this rather changed attitude in his expression.
After this she began to consider her husband more and more. When he returned home late during winter, he would find her sitting up for him. She always welcomed him with a cheery smile. And she always had a warm brazier ready for him to warm himself. She took infinitely more pains with her toilet and made herself look younger and fresher than before. Even though the hour was very late, she would take out her sewing, and would chat pleasantly, reviving old recollections of their early married life.
The minute way in which she remembered even the smallest details was a surprise and a joy to him,
