man of about forty, with an intelligent calm about him which I am tempted to call "honest good looks" (in contrast to my own alleged good looks which, even if true, certainly are tainted with lewdness). He seemed so simple and straightforward that I let down my guard completely. I was listlessly recounting my story when suddenly I was seized with another fit of coughing. I took out my handkerchief. The blood stains caught my eye, and with ignoble opportunism I thought that this cough might also prove useful. I added a couple of extra, exaggerated coughs for good measure and, my mouth still covered by the handkerchief, I glanced at the district attorney's face. The next instant he asked with his quiet smile, "Was that real?" Even now the recollection makes me feel so embarrassed] I can't sit still. It was worse, I am sure, even than when in high school I was plummeted into hell by that stupid Takeichi tapping me on the hack and saying, "You did it on purpose." Those were the two great disasters in a lifetime of acting. Sometimes I have even thought that I should have preferred to be sentenced to ten years imprisonment rather than meet with such gentle contempt from the district attorney. The charge against me was suspended, but this brought no joy. I felt utterly wretched as I sat on a bench in the corridor outside the district attorney's office waiting for the arrival of my guarantor, Flatfish.
I could see through the tall windows behind my bench the evening sky glowing in the sunset. Seagulls were flying by in a line which somehow suggested the curve of a woman's body.
