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We skirted the house by a narrow walk; she was leading the way by this other entrance, when, spread out over its low step, blocking our progress, I saw a small Japanese woman ripping up a satin dress. "Let us pass, Oomie." "Wait. We can talk as well here," I checked her.
"Hello what's this?" I bent to examine a small hole in the hem of that breadth Oomie was so delightedly smoothing. "O-o-o-o! I think may-may burn'm. Not like any more." There was a small round hole. Just so a cigarette might have seared or a bullet. "Not can use," I said to Oomie, indicating the injured bit. "Cut that off. Give me." And I laid a silver dollar on the step.
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