|Text(Edward G. Seidensticker; The Tale of Genjij
The New Year came, and the end of mourning for Fujitsubo. Mourning robes were changed for the bright robes of ordinary times. It was as if the warm, soft skies of the Fourth Month and the Kamo festival had everywhere brought renewal. For Asagao, however, life was sad and dull. The wind rustling the laurels* made her think of the festival and brought countless memories to her young women as well.
He came calling one moonlit night and took shelter under a laurel tree, õ no public announcement having yet been made of her identity, as he sent in word that he had brought a message from his father. Received at the south door, he smiled wryly as he thought how she had refused even to accept his letters.
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