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Updated: August 31, 2025
Why do our dull insular minds mix up these four entirely separate notions? And how can we jump with such goat-like agility from one circle of thought into another without ever noticing the change in the landscape?" He strolled over to the piano to put these ideas into music. Lady Cynthia had decided that it would be bad for him to stop in Chuzenji.
Barrington wishes not to return to you. She has been told that you make misconduct with Miss Smith at Kamakura, and again at Chuzenji. Miss Smith herself says so. Mrs. Harrington thinks this story must be true; or Miss Smith do not tell so bad story about herself. We think she is quite right " "Shut up!" thundered Geoffrey. "This is a matter for me and my wife alone. Please, leave us.
These pilgrims are lodged free by the temple on the lake-side, in long sheds like cattle-byres. The endless files of lean pack-horses, laden with bags of rice and other provisions, the ruddy sexless girls who lead them, and the women who have been foraging for wood and come down from the mountain with enormous faggots on their bent shoulders, provide a foreground for the Chuzenji landscape.
The big Englishman was contemplating a whisky-and-soda in the hall of the hotel. It was by no means the first of its series. He gazed dully at Reggie. "Thought you were at Chuzenji," he said thickly. "I had to come down for the special service for the Archduke Franz Ferdinand," said Reggie, excitedly. "They gave us a regular wake, champagne by the gallon!
"The bad boy," she said, "he wants to get away from me in order to think about a lot of music. But I don't care!" Under a steady wind they sheered through the water. On the right hand was Chuzenji village, a Swiss effect of brown chalets dwarfed to utter insignificance by the huge wooded mountain dome of Nantai San which rose behind it.
The thoroughfare itself presented a never-ending panorama of carts, packhorses, natives, pilgrims, and tourists. There were several tempting excursions of two or three miles each, the most celebrated of which was to Lake Chuzenji, eight miles distant. This required an early morning departure in a jinrikisha.
But Asako did not want to go to Chuzenji. All her thoughts were centred on the little house by the river. "Geoffrey darling," she said, stroking his hair with her tiny waxen fingers, "it is the hot weather which is making you feel cross. Why don't you go up to the mountains for a week or so, and stop with Reggie?" "Will you come?" asked her husband, brightening. "I can't very well.
Perhaps she would only make things worse. On the whole, she had better stop in Chuzenji and look after her own husband. "Reggie," she said, "you've had a lucky escape. How did you know that I had any hand in this? You're more of a girl than a man. A rotten marriage would have broken you. Geoffrey Barrington is made of stronger stuff. He is in for a bad time.
The ride there was through a region which affords a fine example of the Japanese method of cultivating the soil. The little homes were attractive. Potatoes, rice, and millet seemed to be the principal crops. Chuzenji Lake is a marvel of beauty, with its many walks along the shore. Luncheon was served at the hotel.
It was not until half-way up the steep climb between Nikko and Chuzenji that his lungs suddenly seemed to break through a thick film, and he breathed fresh air again. Then he was glad that he had come. He was afoot. A coolie strode on before him with his suit-case strapped on his back. They had started in pouring rain, a long tramp through narrow gorges.
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