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Impatiently he paced up and down, stopping at a window for a moment and looking out into the night. "Your Highness! Your Highness!" The servant was sobbing with excitement. "Your Highness, Princess Sira has escaped!" Joro left the man babbling, dashed up the broad stairs, unheeding the servants who scattered before him. Their punishment could wait.
"At this hour!" exclaimed the princess. "Did he say what brought him here?" "Something about a new plot." "Plots! They fall thicker than rain on Venus. Bid him wait." Fifteen minutes later, swathed in a trailing orange silk robe that made her look like a Venus orchid, she greeted the prince. "Greetings, Joro. We seem to have the unusual this night."
Such candle-offerings are always accompanied by secret prayers for good- fortune. But this Inari is worshipped by many besides members of the joro class. The pieces of coloured cloth about the necks of the foxes are also votive offerings.
The shimada, exquisitely elaborate, is; but the more respectable the family, the smaller the form of this coiffure; geisha and joro wear a larger and loftier variety of it, which properly answers to the name takawage, or 'high coiffure. Between eighteen and twenty years of age the maiden again exchanges this style for another termed Tenjin-gaeshi; between twenty and twenty-four years of age she adopts the fashion called mitsuwage, or the 'triple coiffure' of three loops; and a somewhat similar but still more complicated coiffure, called mitsuwakudzushi, is worn by young women of from twenty-five to twenty-eight.
Not Joro: he believed that the monarchy would soothe the rumblings of internal dissension that continually disturbed the peace and tranquillity of Mars. He drove forward to that consummation with a steadfastness and singleness of purpose such as have carried other fanatics to glory or to the grave.
But Joro, the veteran of many a battle of wits and arms, parried the stroke with the thick barrel of his neuro-pistol, caught the girl's wrist and disarmed her. The screams of the maid went unheeded. From the other parts of the palace came sounds of struggle, the clashing of sword on sword. "Sira! Sira!" Joro panted, struggling to hold the girl. "You must give up your impractical ideas!
Didn't they murder my father and my mother, and my only brother? My peril in this palace is as great as in the room of a terrestrial detective. Only their fear of the people " She was interrupted by the tinkling of a bell. The maid left the alcove, and returned a moment later with the news that Joro, Prince of Hanlon, awaited the princess's pleasure in the ante-room.
He wants nothing now but your hand in marriage, and is prepared to cede to the royal cause all the advantages he has gained " "Not to mention," Sira interjected, "the royal prestige he will gain with the common people." Joro laughed, a little impatiently. "True, true! But after all, what does the support of the people amount to? They are powerless.
Just inside the princess's chamber, still unconscious from a blow on the head, lay the guard whose duty it had been to stand before that door. How long ago had she gone? Probably not more than a few minutes. Joro saw to it that her start would not be much longer.
He is above all things impersonal. His human figures are devoid of all individuality; yet they have inimitable merit as types embodying the characteristics of a class: the childish curiosity of the peasant, the shyness of the maiden, the fascination of the joro the self-consciousness of the samurai, the funny, placid prettiness of the child, the resigned gentleness of age.
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