plopped herself down beside Horiki. I was taken aback: Tsuneko was going to be kissed in another few minutes. It wasn't that I regretted losing her. I have never had the faintest craving for possessions. Once in a while, it is true, I have experienced a vague sense of regret at losing something, but never strongly enough to affirm positively or to contest with others my rights of possession. This was so true of me that some years later I even watched in silence when any own wife was violated. I have tried insofar as possible to avoid getting involved in the sordid complications of human beings. I have been afraid of being sucked down into their bottomless whirlpool. Tsuneko and I were lovers of just one night. She did not belong to me. It was unlikely that I would pretend to so imperious an emotion as "regret." And yet I was shocked. It was because I felt sorry for Tsuneko, sorry that she should be obliged to accept Horiki's savage kisses while I watched. Once she had been defiled by Horiki she would no doubt have to leave me. But my ardor was not positive enough for me to stop Tsuneko. I experienced an instant of shock at her unhappiness; I thought, "It's all over now." Then, the next moment, I meekly, helplessly resigned myself. I looked from Horiki to Tsuneko. I grinned. But the situation took an unexpected turn, one very much for the worse. "I've had enough," Horiki said with a scowl. "Not even a lecher like myself can kiss a woman who looks so poverty-stricken." He folded his arms and stared, seemingly in utter disgust, at Tsuneko. He forced a smile.
