they were all wearing Western clothes. In the sweet May air of the Third Month, this company of men with hair oiled back in topknots marched in bright striped trousers and swallowtail coats, their shoulders built up with absurd epaulets, their chests made over into pincushions for sashes, medals, and braid. I had not seen trousers in three years and they seemed to me like stalks, like stems: travesties.
