Near an intersection, they found myriad book and magazine sellers on either side of the road. Several shops were thronged with people flipping through magazines. Then the people would return them to the racks and go on their way. "Everyone looks, but no one buys." Nonomiya laughed as he too glanced through a copy of "Sun."
On the corners of the intersection were a couple of haberdasheries. The shop on the left, on their side of the road, sold Western-made wares. The shop on the opposite side sold Japanese wares. An electric train turned between the shops and then sped on with impressive force, bells clanging as it went. It was hard to cross the road for all the congestion. Nonomiya pointed to the shop on the opposite corner. "I need to get something over there." He weaved his way nimbly between the dinging street cars. Sanshirō followed on his heels. Nonomiya entered the shop without hesitation. As Sanshirō waited outside, he looked through the front glass and saw a display shelf lined with combs and floral hairpins. His curiosity was aroused, and he wondered what Nonomiya could be buying in such a place. Just as he decided to go in and see, Nonomiya came out dangling a ribbon that was shiny and clear like cicada wings. "Beautiful, huh?"
It occurred to Sanshirō that he should buy something for Omitsu Miwata in return for the fish. However, if he sent her something she would no doubt flatter herself that there was more to it than formal reciprocity, so he decided to refrain.
From there, they went to Masagochō, where Nonomiya treated him to Western cuisine. According to Nonomiya, it was the best Western-style restaurant in Hongō. Sanshirō was sure that it tasted Western, but that was as far as he could judge. However, he did polish off everything he was served.
After parting with Nonomiya in front of the restaurant, Sanshirō carefully made his way back to Oiwake, retracing his route and turning left at the busy intersection. He poked his head into a sandal shop on the way home, thinking to buy a pair. However, the shop girl seated under the gas lamp had powdered her face brilliant white and looked like some plastered ghoul. He quickly changed his mind and left. The rest of the way home, he reflected on the complexion of the woman he'd seen by the edge of the pond. -- Her skin was light brown, like a lightly toasted rice cake. And its texture seemed extraordinarily fine. Sanshirō made up his mind that that was his ideal.