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8 * is near.
 * Okuni.—Yes, I am sure it is he that is playing, for while I was so ill at Utsunomiya, I heard that music always stealing up to my window. Yes, there is no doubt about it. It must be he!
 * Gohei.—That komuso-priest seems to be roaming from one village to another, never hurrying, and it seems very strange indeed that he should always follow our tracks. He is a strange person!
 * Okuni.—We met this priest, I remember, at Kumagaya, on the Nakasendo road. Sometimes he passed us, and sometimes we overtook him, but we all arrived at Utsunomiya on the same day.
 * Gohei.—Yes, and at Utsunomiya, while you were lying so ill, he went each day and played his shakuhachi under your window. For two whole months he did this, and even on rainy days was there as usual.
 * Okuni.—Do you know that at times I almost fancied that he was our enemy Tomonojo …
 * Gohei.—I also thought this, my lady, but I never said so before. You looked at his face, didn’t you?
 * Okuni.—Yes, for when I threw him money, he often looked up at me from under his overhanging hat.
 * Gohei.—I also noticed his face at such times, but it never seemed to me to have any resemblance to Ikeda.
 * Okuni.—Perhaps what you say is true, but I hope that I may be able to look more closely at him when we meet him again, if we ever do.