murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

"Fine," said Reiko. "But if we keep coming home late, Naoko might
start getting suspicious."
"I'm willing to risk it."
"OK, then. I want a roof, though. It's a little chilly tonight."
She turned left as we approached the tennis courts. We went down a
narrow stairway and came out at a spot where several storehouses
stood like a block of houses. Reiko opened the door of the nearest one,
stepped in and turned on the lights. "Come in," she said. "There's not
much to see, though."
The storehouse contained neat rows of cross-country skis, boots and
poles, and on the floor were piled snow removal equipment and bags
of rock salt.
"I used to come here all the time for guitar practice - when I wanted to
be alone. Nice and cosy, isn't it?"
Reiko sat on the bags of rock salt and invited me to sit next to her. I
did as I was told.
"Not much ventilation here, but mind if I smoke?"
"Go ahead," I said.
"This is one habit I can't seem to break," she said with a frown, but
she lit up with obvious enjoyment. Not many people enjoy tobacco as
much as Reiko did. I ate my grapes, carefully peeling them one at a
time and tossing the skins and seeds into a tin that served as a rubbish
bin.
"Now, let's see, how far did we get last night?" Reiko asked.
"It was a dark and stormy night, and you were climbing the steep cliff
to grab the bird's nest."
"You're amazing, the way you can joke around with such a straight
face," said Reiko. "Let's see, I think I had got to the point where I was
giving piano lessons to the girl every Saturday morning."
"That's it."
"Assuming you can divide everybody in the world into two groups -
180