the bottle and packages on the table, pulled up a chair and sat down facing the door.
The landlady was correct. "By and by" the door opened and a man came in as quiet as a shadow. It was Lien-shu. It might have been due to the lateness of the afternoon, but he did seem to me darker than ever, though he was otherwise the same.
"Ah, so you are here! How long have you been here?" He seemed glad to see me.
"Not very long," I said. "Where have you been?"
"Nowhere in particular. I just went out for a walk."
He also pulled up a chair and sat by the table and we began to drink and to talk about his losing his position. However, he did not want to talk much about that. He regarded it as something to be expected, something which he was now used to and which should cause no surprise, something hardly worthy talking about. He kept on drinking as he always did and talked about society and history in general. I noticed his empty bookcases and, recalling the early printing of the Chi-ku-ko edition of the Shih-chi so-yin, I felt a sense of melancholy and sadness.
"Your guest room seems so desolate. Don't you have many visitors nowadays?"
"No. They don't want to come because I am depressed. A man in low spirits makes others uncomfortable. No one likes to visit the park in the winter." He took two draughts in succession without saying anything. Suddenly he looked up at me and asked, "I don't suppose you have any assurance of getting a position either?"
I was about to give vent to my feelings on the subject when he cocked his ears to listen and went out with a handful of peanuts. Outside was the sound of talk and laughter of Big
