The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

women whom he had discovered and slept with, and
given them the title “maid,” using the English word.
Tsuné was the stupidest one among them, and the
one with the largest breasts.
When breakfast was on the table, he poked at a
breast by way of good morning.
“Nice and firm.”
“Yes, in very good shape.” Tsuné answered
respectfully if expressionlessly. The heavy, dark flesh
itself was respectful. Particularly deferential was the
navel, deep as a well. The beautiful legs were
somehow incompatible with the rest of Tsuné. She
was aware of that fact. Tōru had seen how, as she
brought coffee past on the uneven floor of the
coffeehouse, she had brushed her calf against the
lower branches of the starving rubber plant, like a cat
rubbing against a bush.
Tōru thought of something. Going over to the
window, he looked down into the garden, the chest of
his bathrobe open to the morning breeze. Even now
Honda scrupulously respected the hour for his
morning walk, just after he was out of bed.
Tottering along on his stick in the stripes of
November sunlight, Honda smiled and managed a
good morning Tōru could barely hear.
Tōru smiled and waved. “I’ll be damned. The old