e, but paid in commissions for their own cosmetics and
other little gratifications. On entering the place O'Iwa shrank back to
the wall in horror; to shrink away in turn from the filth and obscenity
to be seen on that support. She would have fled, but the entering crowd
pressed her further in. It was a long room. The entrance formed a sort
of parlour or place to sit. The rest of the apartment was divided
longitudinally into little cubicula, rooms of the space of the one dirty
mat with which each was furnished. A shelf contained its cynically
filthy and suggestive furniture.

O'Iwa's disgust and terror was too obvious. O'Haru held on to her arm
to prevent flight. The attention of the others was drawn to them. "Does
the beauty want an apartment to herself? That is the privilege of the
Oiran, the Go Tayu, the Kashiku.[26] Ah! Sister dear; it is to be
learned that this place is Hell--First Block. There is no 'second block'
(nicho[u]me). One gets used to anything here; even to use a demon's
horns for toothpicks." Thus spoke a hard-faced woman of some thirty odd,
by her looks. Said the frightened O'Iwa in low tones--"Iwa has not come
for this service. She is but a pledge. This redeemed, within the week
she returns to her home. This place upsets one's stomach." Those present
laughed loudly. "We all say that. The real reason for our coming is not
to be told. Be assured that you must perform the service, or suffer.
Condescend not to fall into the hands of the Okamisan. In anger she is
terrible." There was a general movement of the women. Said O'Haru,
drawing along O'Iwa by the hand--"Come! Make no trouble. A newcomer, you
are sure to be successful and please Matsu Dono." O'Iwa resolutely held
back. No matter what the suffering she would undergo it. Ah! A week in
this place indeed was to be life in Hell. She called up the sight of the
dismantled house, the figure of her grandfather, anything to strengthen
her will to resist. O'Haru left the room. "Okamisan, the new girl
refuses to serve. Haru makes report." The wife of Toemon leaped up from
her cushion. Dressed in night clothes, a long pipe in hand, she rushed
into the room. "What nonsense is this? Which slut is it that refuses the
service of the house?... You! The ink on the receipt for twenty _ryo[u]_
paid for your ugly face and body is hardly dry.... Pledge? A week's
service? You lie: as your uncle said you would lie. You are here for
life service as a street harlot. Out with y