ABSTRACT
Saionji rested his brush on the desk and turned to her. "Isn't it hot, Okiku? See, my yukata is soaked with perspiration. We may have a thunder shower later."
Okiku began to fan Saionji again. "We are lucky, Prince, that we are not in the city where the low,
frame houses stick together like the teeth of a comb. On a day like this, people can hardly breathe there."
