Otaguro’s bosom heaved with an ineffable surge of joy. “Every man is fighting,” he murmured. “Every man.
Again and again, the cicada’s untiring cry pierced the sultry summer air like a needle at work on thick cotton cloth.
Beyond doubt it would speedily verify the proverb that a nation must ravage itself before foreigners can ravage it, a man must despise himself before others can despise him.
The instant that the blade tore open his flesh, the bright disk of the sun soared up and exploded behind his eyelids.