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Show 68 looked down a bit on these back-of-Japan yokels, who had never known the civilized pleasures of a consulate abroad. And in class-conscious Japan, a mother who made no attempt to establish her daughter's social respectability could condemn her to perennial isolation. So it was that Kimiko was held in suspension, and gazed at him in a sort of wonder. "Eleven?" he repeated, and her eyes took in his features, in this light surprisingly plain. Odd, the other girls at the club thought him good-looking, teased her whan he had come forward for his beer - and for a long time she could neither agree nor disagree. To her all Americans had looked alike, and he differed only in being more standard: neither short nor tall, fat nor thin. Even his face had for a long time been only a norm. Now he was plain. Whatever combination of regular features or skin were, at the moment, negligible. In this light and in this rainstorm he didn't look handsome. But it didn't matter, for thoughtfulness and a sort of shy sensitivity shone through. His eyes were kind, his expression interested in her, Kimiko, as a human being rather than a bar-girl. And she could not resist; all the barriers put up by history went down before human warmth. Quickly she nodded, and then, almost as if afraid she would go back on her own decision, she got out and walked hastily away- |