Thought returned—there was every chance for it. That nearer Jap girl yesterday on the bench-seat, constructed in the mould of the
Russian Matryoshka doll: squat, neckless, helmet hair-style; warm and animated
for all that, a bright, attractive spirit… Still now it is quite unclear whether
it might have been Tomoko No.2. Unlikely, but by no means impossible. So much
was in accord. The look, proportion, manner, thin voice, colouration (a native
kind of farm-girl flush. Tomoko hailed from a remote Prefecture). Neatness and
matronliness completely consistent. Fitting perfectly the picture of an
orderly, efficient and responsible nurse. The thought more than a little
preposterous, yet not to be discounted. Even after an exchange of a number of
pleasantries. Her side too the European of a certain size, proportion, colour
could easily remain undifferentiated. This would not be the first occasion
where such a thing occurred. The racial mask.
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