The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

former nurse. Momoko looked aside in terror, and so I
was able to hide the fact that the wound was only a
scratch.
How was it now, she asked earnestly.
“The bone is showing.”
“No! How horrible!”
“You needn’t be alarmed,” I said sullenly.
She was terrified at a casual hint that the finger
might have to be amputated. The extravagant horror
showed all too clearly her sensual egotism, but it did
not displease me.
We talked as we walked along. As usual, the chief
burden of conversation was hers. She was happy in
the warmth, the brightness and the propriety of her
home. It irritated me that she felt not the slightest
doubt about her parents.
“I should imagine that your mother has spent quiet
nights with another man or two. She’s lived a long
time.”
“Absolutely not.”
“How do you know? There were things that
happened before you were born. Ask your brothers.”
“It isn’t true.”
“And I imagine your father has a pretty woman off
somewhere.”
“No, no. Absolutely not.”