Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Ah!
At last, truly at last, the time had come when I could finally stretch out my body and relax.
But it was already eleven-thirty.
In this neighborhood, it was midnight.
And today’s half-day at court—though I’d already been exhausted to begin with—left me completely worn out.

If possible, I wanted to go straight home from there, cast aside everything, and tumble into bed.
But my boy was waiting for me, being looked after by Uncle and Aunt in Minami-Shinagawa.
After parting ways with everyone at Toranomon, I hurried straight to Shinbashi to pick up my boy.

When I got off the train at Ōsaki and impatiently trailed behind the rickshaw puller laboring up the rocky slope—he made no effort to hurry—my boy came bounding toward me in joy.
And he was brimming with vigor.
Uncle and Aunt rejoiced, saying he had behaved well.
Poor thing—my boy hadn’t spent a single daytime hour with me these past ten days, what with me being out constantly.
After nine o'clock, Uncle carried him all the way back from Ōsaki.
He had slept soundly on the train and remained fast asleep when we alighted at Komagome, but perhaps roused by the rickshaw’s cool breeze; once home, he played spiritedly inside the mosquito net before finally drifting off again.

I’m about to go to sleep now, but though my body lies utterly exhausted and limp, my mind remains unnervingly clear—so much that I can’t seem to fall asleep at all. That’s why I’ve resolved to write you this letter now, something for you to read when boredom strikes.
And if I can properly wear out my mind this way, I might finally sleep soundly through till morning without a single care.

But even if I say it's to tire out my head, I'm not writing nonsense at all, you know.
Today I will write about why my mind has become so unnervingly clear and refuses to let me sleep.
It concerns the trial I observed today at that courthouse.
And that defendant was a woman.
However, I did not listen out of mere special interest in the fact that she was a woman.
Nor was it particularly compelling simply because she was a woman.
I found myself drawn not to the specific matters under trial themselves, but rather to the very concept of "a trial."

To you, of course, all this must be perfectly clear without needing to hear it from me now as if it were some newfound revelation. That’s precisely why you kept urging me to observe trials at the ward court. I am well aware of that. You, who know me well, have long understood that I would inevitably take interest in such things. But don’t you wish to know how I observed it, how I listened, and where I found the most interest? Of course, if we were together, I would tell you everything at once—only what I saw, only what I heard, only what I felt. But now you and I are strictly separated. No matter what I feel or think, I cannot speak it from my lips to your ears. Nor can you convey your thoughts and feelings directly to mine. That conversation in the visitation room during those ten or five minutes! What could we possibly say? Do we not merely exchange glances? How much can we speak beyond trivial matters? On the second or third day, during those few minutes when we meet—what prosaic erasure must we perform with that time? Even if reduced to meetings once every two months or once a year, we still could manage nothing beyond that, could we? And so our only remaining means to converse is through letters. Even those letters may be intercepted midway—just as our rare conversations during visitations are prone to interference by the attending guards—

I am now here trying to write down everything I absolutely want you to hear.
When I imagine what feelings you might have reading this, my chest trembles.
But when I think that this letter might perhaps never reach your hands—that it could end up tossed into some official’s desk along the way—my chest grows heavy again.

But even so, it's fine!
Even so, I will finish writing this letter.
I mustn't think about such things.
No matter what becomes of this letter, I write it to speak to you.
This doesn't concern others!
It's not something bureaucrats could ever comprehend!
Since these are matters only you—yes, you alone—could understand, I'll write without any hesitation.
It's not for others to see or hear—I write because you await me.
A conversation just between us!
Yes—if we weren't separated, I'd speak with my mouth and you'd hear with your ears; being apart means I use my hand instead of my mouth, and you read with your eyes instead of your ears—that's all there is to it.

Ah, but unaware that I'm speaking to you like this now, you're probably asleep, worn out from the day. Are you still awake reading a book or something instead of sleeping? Or in the worst case—are you desperately keeping watch against an invasion of bedbugs and fleas?

Two

When I belatedly rushed to the courthouse today, the faces of many comrades were already visible here and there. And from everyone, I heard that your trial was to be held in Courtroom No. 1.

At that time, it seemed another trial was already underway in Courtroom No. 1—a policeman stood by the slightly opened door, upon which hung a sign reading "Courtroom Full." When I saw that, I was struck by anxiety—based on previous instances—that the courtroom might once again be filled with spies. But when I looked around, people—whether familiar or not—with those distinctive expressions and demeanors that allowed one to immediately identify them as spies were swarming here and there. We rested in the shade near Courtroom No. 1 and watched the situation for a while.

About thirty minutes after I arrived, the group of defendants from Courtroom No. 1 emerged through its doorway.
And then, nearly twenty spectators straggled out after them.
The courtroom proceedings appeared to have moved on this time to interrogating another defendant.
And we could not afford to miss those spectators’ empty seats.
We hurriedly entered the public gallery.

When we entered, on the high judges’ bench of the courtroom—exactly as prescribed by protocol at its center—that young judge who had been the presiding judge for your case sat with his refined face slightly clouded, examining the records before him.
He was likely waiting for the brief commotion inside the courtroom—caused by our entry—to subside.
The prosecutor occupying the seat to the right of the presiding judge was an unattractively corpulent man approaching forty.
The sight of his greasy, pockmarked face swelling even further as he looked down at the public gallery nearly made me burst out laughing.
Moreover, that official cap only served to make his already bloated face look all the more absurd.

The court clerk was the same gaunt man from your trial.
In front of the sturdy railing below the judges' bench stood a woman with a disheveled ginkgo-leaf bun, wearing a rough indigo-dyed single-layer kimono washed thin from use, her head bowed; behind her in the defense attorneys' seats waited two lawyers.

When the public gallery quieted down, the presiding judge raised his face and lowered his gaze onto the defendant.
Looking closer, the woman standing at the defendant’s stand cradled an infant that seemed barely days old.

What could she have done?

I looked at the judge’s face once again.
That presiding judge’s face was truly a kind one.
At that time, he did not have the intense, strained expression I had seen during your trial, but he fully displayed a gentleness and refinement that were far removed from a certain concept I hold toward those called ordinary judges—a concept that encompasses both good and bad meanings.
Moreover, in that attitude of his—knitting his thick brows slightly as he quietly sought to question and ascertain—there was something entirely different from the leniency considered the foremost virtue of those who investigate or pass judgment on others’ crimes: a purity of genuine moral sentiment that keenly resonated with the motives behind crimes committed by the vulnerable.
With an eagerness to determine how far I could trust my first impression of this presiding judge, I began to pay close attention to the trial.

It appeared the interrogation had already begun before we entered, as I heard this portion from here.

“Have you ever kept any items from that Hayashiya Kurazo?”

The presiding judge began in a calm, gentle tone, as if questioning a child.

“I refused, but he forced them in and left.”

The defendant answered in a low voice that was almost a murmur, keeping her head bowed.

“You refused, but he forced them in and left?”
“Well, regardless—you did end up keeping them, didn’t you?”

“He forced them on me.”

The woman stubbornly refused to admit she had accepted them.

“Well then, even if he forced them on you, why didn’t you refuse more forcefully? You could have just kept refusing to the end, couldn’t you?”

“At that time when I was sick and lying in bed, Hayashiya came and told me to keep these items for him. Though I refused because it was troubling, he forced them on me and left.”

The woman, as if utterly at a loss, kept repeating that single phrase over and over.

“It appears this wasn’t the first time you received goods from Hayashiya Kurazo.”

The woman nodded faintly.

“About how many times would you say?”

“Three or four times.”

“So he brought goods each time, did he?”

“That is correct.”

“So when was it that he came and forcibly threw [the goods] in while you were sick and lying in bed?”

The woman remained silent.

“When was it that you say you were sick and lying in bed? Was it after this year began? Last year?”

“Last year.”

“Last year—last year around what month?”

“Around November.”

“According to these records here, Hayashiya Kurazo began coming to your place around November last year and then continuously until around June of this year brought goods over several times to have you store them—is that correct?”

“That is correct.”

“So you’re saying your refusal occurred during his very first visit, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“So what did you do afterward?”

“I still refused.”

“Every single time?”

“Yes.”

“Then why does he keep leaving them?”

“He forces them on me anyway.”

“Even if he tried forcing them on you, you could have refused outright. Why couldn’t you refuse? If you’d refused, you could have returned what he left behind.”
“If you’d truly refused firmly, he wouldn’t have forced them on you at all—would he?”

The woman fell silent.

“Hayashiya Kurazo says that while you refused him at first, afterward you kept accepting the items without protest.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“Well?”

The woman kept her head bowed and fell silent like a mute.

“What’s wrong?
“Not answering is troublesome, isn’t it?
“Why don’t you answer? You’re capable of speaking, aren’t you?
“You needn’t think—simply answer truthfully—”

But he couldn’t get her to speak.
The woman clamped her mouth shut with the stubborn silence of concealed infidelity.

“Why won’t you answer the court’s questions?
“Even if you stay silent, the court can render judgment regardless. Telling the truth serves you better. Well? Will you answer?
“Still determined to keep silent?”

The woman began sobbing quietly in a low voice.
The Presiding Judge stared silently at the defendant’s head as if at a loss.

“Your Honor, as the defendant remains unwell and appears thoroughly exhausted, we humbly request permission for her to sit.”

One of the lawyers who had been waiting silently until then stood up and made a request to the Presiding Judge.

“Ah, very well.”
“Then sit there—put that bottle aside—if you don’t hold the child firmly, it’s dangerous.”
“Once you’ve done that, calm down and think it over properly before answering.”

The Presiding Judge had her sit down in a tone one might use with a child, then immediately resumed his interrogation.

III

“Why couldn’t you refuse to take the goods from Hayashiya Kurazo?”

“Because I had taken them once before and been inconvenienced.”

“Then isn’t that all the more reason? Why did you not refuse?”

“Because I refused... but he forced them on me.”

“When did you first become acquainted with Kurazo?”

“I met him ten years ago when I worked at an ice shop.”

“And you and Kurazo had some kind of relationship, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So from that time onward, did you know Hayashiya Kurazo was the sort of man who would do such things?”

“No, I did not know.”

“So you only realized that afterward, is that not right?”

“That’s correct.”

“And did you continue associating with him after that?”

“No.”

“So he suddenly came to visit you around November last year, is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

Here, the presiding judge’s interrogation paused for a time. And here and there, he was flipping through the records. The Prosecutor’s bored demeanor had been almost pitiable from the very start. With an air of complete detachment, as if this exchange had nothing to do with him, he would at times survey each face in the gallery one by one, then turn to gaze blankly out the window with a thoroughly vacant expression.

“What do you say about what you heard earlier? Even if you claim you didn’t accept them, Kurazo says he left them with you, and the goods were actually in your possession, weren’t they? Then doesn’t that mean you accepted them regardless?”

The woman fell silent once more.

*Why does that presiding judge keep pressing so persistently about that matter?*

I stared fixedly at the Presiding Judge’s face as I thought.

There was no doubt the woman had accepted the goods on multiple occasions.
Yet it was equally undeniable that she had refused each time.
In my view, the Presiding Judge was above all else trying to make her acknowledge the “fact” of having “accepted” them, while she interpreted clearly admitting this as tantamount to condemning herself—and thus wanted above all to assert it had never been her intention.
But sadly, this uneducated woman lacked the power to clearly explain to him how those facts had occurred against her will.
It struck me that perhaps even her own desire to explain remained unclear in her mind.
She must have fallen silent out of resentment—or perhaps dissatisfaction—toward this so-called “judge who couldn’t grasp circumstances,” who sought unconditional acknowledgment of her having “accepted” them.
Even if one resented his manner of questioning, those unable to refute it directly might have no choice but silence.

By the way—that intelligent Presiding Judge who displayed such sympathetic demeanor—why did he remain so indifferent toward this defendant’s psychological state?
I must declare without reservation: every attitude he showed toward her seemed more deeply humane and compassionate than what one expects from an austere magistrate.
Yet regarding this single point of interrogation alone—the Presiding Judge became unnervingly persistent.
He battered her with varied questioning tactics until she seemed ready to collapse under their weight—determined by any means necessary to extract acknowledgment of those facts they called immutable.
From his judicial perspective—one might argue—admitting facts stands separate from offering justifications; but such distinctions hold meaning only for those who grasp reason’s architecture and wield logic’s tools with ease—or so I concluded then.
Moreover—since his demeanor carried sympathy altogether distinct from what he’d show educated defendants—I thought basic comprehension on this matter should have been attainable through minimal effort on his part!
If forcing her admission proved essential for judicial progress—why employ such spiteful phrasing rather than alternative approaches?
She already conceded accepting those goods against her will—her terror lay solely in uttering “I accepted them” outright!
That after securing judicial recognition of her circumstances’ desperation—she wished first for validation before formal confession—this even gallery spectators grasped instantly! How could he fail?
Thus one phrase alone—

“I understand that you refused and had no intention of keeping them—but whether you were forced or otherwise, in any case you ultimately ended up accepting them, did you not?”

Had he taken such a tone—I thought—the woman would likely have answered honestly.

What do you think?
Is my way of viewing this too ignorant of worldly matters?
Admittedly, this question may sound quite absurd.
After all, those truly versed in worldly affairs wouldn’t trouble themselves with such trifling trials in the first place.
But in that Presiding Judge’s exceptionally compassionate demeanor and his persistently malicious interrogation, I somehow felt I had detected a sort of ironic contradiction—and it was precisely this point that deeply intrigued me.

That contradiction—this is how I viewed it. That compassionate, kind attitude was a manifestation of Judge O’s true character, while that malicious style of interrogation had been shaped by a certain professional habit that had seeped into him unconsciously over time—. And when I immediately considered again how few judges could adopt such an attitude—how rather, nearly all judges wished to be strict arbiters of justice, striving to fit themselves as perfectly as possible into that mold of a judge shaped by professional habit—my heart truly grew dark.

Sentencing—those people of that world discussed such matters with utter nonchalance.
When I considered those who had never once reflected on how grave and arduous a responsibility it was to judge crimes committed by others—those who instead unthinkingly regarded such a position as if divinely ordained, mechanically processing criminals entangled in deep-rooted causes through professional habit—I felt something beyond words.

Admittedly, I soon afterward resolved not to dwell on such matters—how could one live complacently in this world while fretting over every little thing?—but the fact remains that I had earnestly considered those thoughts at the time.

“No matter how tedious it may be, have you grown weary of this letter already?
Has it stretched too long?
But do hear me out.
My letter has only just completed its very beginning here.
What stirred my particular vexation regarding this trial was something else entirely.
Though it has grown quite lengthy, I remain utterly untired.
I want to write still more.
Didn’t you yourself say, ‘When sending letters to prison, any trifling matter may be written?
“However long a letter becomes, it can never be too lengthy.” You simply must bear with reading it—if only out of obligation to your own professed words.”

IV

What I found most infuriating about this trial, and what I also felt contempt for, was the attitude of the lawyers who should have been the defendant’s sole protectors.

As I had written before, two lawyers were in attendance at the defense bench.

Ah, right—I hadn’t written about what followed the Presiding Judge’s interrogation yet.
In any case, the defendant finally succumbed to the Presiding Judge’s persistent interrogation.

“I was wrong.”
“I acted under a misunderstanding.”

Sobbing in a small voice, after being urged repeatedly to respond, she finally said this.
She had resigned herself to the fact that the judge would never acknowledge what she so desperately wanted to assert—“It wasn’t my will”—and with an attitude of complete submission to her guilt, she bowed her head before the Presiding Judge.
Even so, I found it intriguing to observe how she absolutely refused to say “I accepted them” until the very end.

“What do you mean by ‘acted under a misunderstanding’?”
“Did you even do something bad?”

The Presiding Judge posed this spiteful retort without altering in the slightest the gentle attitude and voice he had maintained all along.
I had gradually begun to harbor resentment toward the Presiding Judge.

“Huh?
“What do you mean?”
“Is it wrong just because I took in the stolen goods?”
“But if I had no intention of accepting them from the start and refused, then there’s no misunderstanding at all, is there?”
“So in any case, there’s no doubt I received items from Hayashiya Kurazo multiple times, right?”

In this manner, the woman was finally forced to yield.
And the subsequent brief interrogation promptly came to an end.
Even if we speak of witness requests, there were no important witnesses whatsoever.
One lawyer submitted a request to summon the woman’s husband—who was present in court—to investigate various family circumstances, but of course this request was rejected.
And I thought that rejection was only natural.
Even though there was no real need, exposing the defendant’s husband as her spouse before a crowd of spectators in the public gallery was, no matter how you looked at it, utterly foolish.
I did little more than peer into the face of the lawyer who had made that frivolous application.
It’s utterly not worth discussing.”

And so, once the witness request matter was settled, the Prosecutor delivered his sentencing demand as a matter of routine.

The Prosecutor—who until then had maintained an attitude of utter indifference, his face suggesting nothing held his interest beyond sheer boredom—now condemned the Defendant’s actions in words so devoid of expression that even my earnest attention failed to retain them, performing this duty with a lifeless tone as he presented his sentencing demand: “Four months’ imprisonment and a fifty-yen fine.” With a thud, he sank into his seat and began idly scanning the spectators’ faces again, as if enduring this a little longer would conclude his ordeal.

The defendant had by then stopped crying and stood motionless with her head slightly bowed. If this woman’s claims in this courtroom were indeed true, what a merciless sentencing demand this would be. Despite the fact that this woman had previously been punished for concealing stolen goods from the same individual, the prosecutor condemned her for having done the same thing again. Even if that were indeed the case—having items she had no intention of accepting forced upon her—she would still be deemed to have accepted them and made to pay a fifty-yen fine alongside a four-month sentencing demand. If the woman had been able to sufficiently resist that man Hayashiya Kurazo, she would have absolutely refused to let him leave those items there. If she had even a modicum of judgment, if she found them suspicious, she could have reported the items and saved herself from criminal liability. But if she lacked even that much resistance and judgment—and moreover, even if by doing so she could prove her innocence before the law—could it not also be possible that she could not help but anticipate an even more terrifying danger, one far more dreadful than legal punishment, immediately closing in upon her? The more heartrending the circumstances that drove her to such criminal acts were to her, the more I could not help but wonder what she must have felt as she received this sentencing demand.

As I stared at her back and pondered these things, the lawyer who had been waiting behind her on the right side stood up first.

“You may remain seated.”

The Presiding Judge immediately had her sit down after saying that.
This lawyer’s argument was extremely simple and clear.
That is, she had fully regretted it when she received her first punishment.
Therefore, in this matter, she had tried her best to refuse from the very beginning.
She had not the slightest intention of committing such a crime again.
And yet, despite all this, she found herself standing once more in this courtroom—entirely because she was weak and could not bring herself to refuse outright.
And as for why she could not stand firm against him—it comes down to the fact that ten years prior, she had broken her marital fidelity to her husband for this man’s sake.
That had become her sole vulnerability both toward Hayashiya and toward her husband.
The man undoubtedly used this weakness of hers to intimidatingly leave the items there, so it is clear that she had no intention of committing this crime—this was the thrust of his argument.
And then the lawyer concluded as follows.

“Presiding Judge, I believe that even without my inept defense, Your Honor—having directly examined the defendant—already understands the circumstances under which she committed this crime.”
“The defendant’s criminal act does not involve any volition of her own whatsoever.”
“No, the defendant’s will lay resolutely in refusing this.”

“However, even if it is deemed that a crime was constituted because the defendant could not ultimately assert her will, I believe her motives should be regarded as nothing but pitiable, and by no means condemnable.”
“While the Prosecutor’s sentencing demand is entirely appropriate with regard to the crime itself, concerning the determination of this penalty, I earnestly wish to request Your Honor’s consideration and greatly weigh the extenuating circumstances.”

“That concerns the defendant’s family circumstances. As Your Honor is already aware from investigations by various parties, the defendant is the wife of a scrap dealer living in dire poverty. In these times of high prices, even were they to labor from dawn till dusk merely to feed themselves, it would already prove arduous enough—yet this defendant has five more children besides the one she currently holds. When we consider what would become of this household should she receive punishment—with so many children to care for, what could her husband possibly do? He cannot leave to conduct his trade; yet if he stays, parent and children alike would face immediate hardship securing their daily bread—truly a pitiful state too wretched to behold. And what effect might such conditions have upon the defendant herself, her husband, or those children? When I contemplate the long-term consequences, I cannot help but feel profound dismay.”

“Your Honor, I am of course aware that the law must not be violated. However, I consider what consequences may arise in the future for such a minor crime. I earnestly hope that Your Honor will also fully consider this matter and render the most fitting judgment. That is to say, if I may be permitted to state my hope for the defendant’s sake, a suspended sentence would seem to be the most appropriate measure.”

Well, this would be an ordinary, to-the-point argument, wouldn’t it? In reality, the case was extremely straightforward, and there was likely little more to say beyond this. And so, I wondered what on earth the other lawyer would say and watched his profile. In my anticipation of what he might say lay two thoughts: whether this argument had left any room for others to speak on the same matter, given how nearly all important points had already been stated; and how my greatest dissatisfaction with the previous argument might apply to this lawyer.

My dissatisfaction, however, was not with that argument.
It concerned his attitude.
Having witnessed the Presiding Judge’s unexpectedly humane—or rather, naturally compassionate—attitude toward human frailty, I listened with vague dissatisfaction as this lawyer explained the defendant’s pitiable living circumstances while attempting to appeal to the judge’s moral sensibilities, all while maintaining a dispassionate demeanor utterly devoid of fervor.
And as I further considered the professional confrontation between judge and lawyers across the defendant—alongside society’s universal notions about these two professions—I began detecting an ironic contrast between their occupational roles and personal characters that filled me with revulsion.
And so, in many respects, I awaited the other lawyer’s argument.

V

However, the other lawyer I had been waiting for—a corpulent man in his fifties whose voice, physique, and overall bearing struck me as far removed from what one might call the dignified air of a gentleman in the ordinary sense.
In truth, I might have already been disappointed in him the moment he stood up.
—Even before he could finish so much as the first sentence of the lengthy argument he was about to deliver, his pompous yet theatrical demeanor and vulgar-tinged voice together made me realize what a base mind he possessed.

“—Now, my opinion coincides with what the previous counsel stated, so I’ve nothing further to add on that point. However, there remains one matter—regarding why this defendant ultimately had to commit a criminal act despite lacking any criminal intent—on which I must earnestly entreat Your Honor’s consideration.”

“Presiding Judge, I implore you to consider—the defendant is but a weak woman.”
“While police records may portray her as rather brazen, I do not believe the defendant possesses anywhere near that degree of shameless obstinacy.”
“Should Your Honor harbor any doubts, here behind me sits this woman’s husband.”
“If Your Honor would summon him and inquire into the defendant’s daily conduct and character, the truth would become immediately apparent—”

He deliberately twisted his large frame around and pointed clearly at a man sitting with bowed head as he spoke.
The Presiding Judge glanced briefly at the man but immediately returned his gaze to the defendant.
He then showed an even more evident expression of displeasure and turned toward the lawyer.
The many spectators in the gallery all turned their eyes toward the man the lawyer had indicated.
Many of those in the back strained upward to see forward.

“Suppose—”

The lawyer immediately continued.

“Even if she were somewhat brazen, a woman is still a woman.”
“As for the man—he’s the sort who steals and does other bad things without a shred of remorse, a hopeless scoundrel—so how could a woman possibly stand her ground against him?”
"We can clearly imagine it."
"This woman’s house—this woman’s house is that of a scrap dealer located in a filthy alley in Iriya."
"In that filthy house, this woman lies prostrate in bed."
"There, that fellow Hayashiya Kurazo comes barging in after several years."
“Hey, it’s been a while—” he says while barging in.
“Even if this woman thought, ‘Ah—a bad man has come in,’ she couldn’t bring herself to say: ‘You’ve caused me nothing but trouble—get out this instant.’”
“An ordinary person wouldn’t come waltzing in after ten years since messing with a married woman and then causing her the trouble of being thrown into prison for four months on top of that.”
“He’s the sort of scoundrel who slinks in without a care while her husband’s away—who knows what he’d do if you crossed him?”
"He takes out the goods and says, ‘Keep these for me.’ Even if she tells him, ‘I refuse—I was already inconvenienced once before by keeping your things,’ once he plants them there, this woman can’t push them back and say no."
Before long, the man leaves, and she has no idea what to do afterward.
“After all, since he’s a man who makes his living as a thief, he doesn’t disclose his address—so she couldn’t send the items back. But consulting her husband to report it to the police or take any such action was also impossible.”
"The reason being, you see, her husband had already discovered her affair with that man during the previous incident ten years ago."
“But even though they had since become unrelated and things had come this far—when that man came again with such matters—she truly couldn’t bring herself to tell her husband about them.”

While she was agonizing over what to do, he would come two or three more times and leave things there.
Once she had accepted them once, it became a matter of course that she couldn’t refuse to keep them thereafter, and so things remained as they were until eventually Hayashiya was caught and the truth became known.
“Now regarding this matter—I believe anyone who considers it would reach the same conclusion.”

While twisting his body in an exaggerated display of self-importance, he rattled off these words in a shallow tone that starkly contradicted his demeanor.

[Liberation, Volume 2, Issue 2 – February 1920]