I looked up various novels in which married women are violated. I tried reading them, but I could not find a single instance of a woman violated in so lamentable a manner as Yoshiko. Her story obviously could never be made into a novel. I might actually have felt better if anything in the least resembling love existed between that runt of a shopkeeper and Yoshiko, but one summer night Yoshiko was trusting, and that was all there was to it . . . And on account of that incident I was cleft between the eyebrows, my voice became hoarse, my hair turned prematurely grey, and Yoshiko was condemned to a life of anxiety. In most of the novels I read emphasis was placed on whether or not the husband forgave the wife's "act." It seemed to me, however, that any husband who still retains the right to forgive or not to forgive is a lucky man. if he thinks that he can't possibly forgive his wife, he ought, instead of making such a great fuss, to get divorced as quickly as possible and find a new wife. If he can't do that he should forgive and show forbearance. In either case the matter can be completely settled in whichever way the husband's feelings dictate. In other words, even though such an incident certainly comes as a great shock to the husband, it is a shock and not an endless series of waves which lash back at him over and over again. It seemed to me a problem which could be disposed of by the wrath of any husband with authority. But in our case the husband was without authority, and when I thought things over, I came to feel that everything was my fault. Far from becoming enraged, I could not utter a word of complaint; it was on account of that rare virtue she possessed that my wife was violated, a
