The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

nature of things.
He had taught them all to call Honda “the old
master,” and otherwise trained them impeccably.
Occasional callers would say that nowhere else these
days did they see such beautiful and well-trained
maids. Tōru left Honda wanting for nothing even while
humiliating him.
Having made himself ready for school, Tōru always
looked in at the garden cottage. Carefully made up,
wearing a negligee, Kinué always received him from
the chaise longue on the veranda. Her newest
coquetry was illness.
Tōru would sit on the veranda and face the ugly
woman with the warmest, most sincere gentleness.
“Good morning. And how are you feeling this
morning?”
“Not too bad, thank you. I doubt if there is anything
more beautiful in this world than the moment when a
beautiful woman with only the strength to make herself
up, all weak on her couch, receives a caller and
manages a feeble ‘Not too bad, thank you.’ The
beauty of it all waves like a heavy flower, and it is
there on her eyelids as she closes her eyes. Isn’t it? I
think of it as the one thing I can do for all your
kindness. But I’m very grateful. You’re the one kind
man in the world who gives me everything and asks