On a day in late March 1007 Miss Betty Doane sat in the quaintly airy dining-room of the Hotel Miyaka at Kioto demurely sketching a mans profile on the back of a menu card
The man her unconscious model lounged comfortably alone by one of the swinging windows He had finished his luncheon pushed away his coffee cup lighted a cigarette and settled back to gaze out at the hillside where young green grasses and gay shrubs and diminutive trees bore pl...
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