The Decay of the Angel - Yukio Mishima

And perhaps Tōru was fretting at a prospect like a
strange, unheard-of ship suddenly appearing on a
horizon which he had been scanning for days.
Perhaps a foretaste of death was moving him,
irritating him. The possibility brought unbounded
gentleness over Honda. He felt that he could love not
only Tōru but the whole human race. He knew the
nature of human love.
But if Tōru was counterfeit? If he was to live on and
on, and Honda, unable to keep up with him, to waste
away?
The roots of the strangling desire within him were in
the uncertainty. If he was to die first, then he could not
refuse the basest of desires. He might all along have
been destined to die in humiliation and
miscalculation. The miscalculation about Tōru may
itself have been the trap laid by Honda’s destiny. If a
person like Honda had a destiny.
The fact that Tōru’s awareness was too much like
his own had long been a seed of disquiet. Perhaps
Tōru had read everything. Perhaps Tōru knew that he
would live a long life, and, reading the determined
malice in the practical education given him by an old
man confident of his early death, had plotted his
revenge.
Perhaps the eighty-year-old and the twenty-year-old