"We didn't always feel that way. Every little while a change would
come over both of us and we would begin to take an interest in each
other. I would be proud of the work she had done in the factory and
would brag of it to men coming into the shop. In the evening she would
be sympathetic about the violins and put the baby to bed to let me
alone at my work in the kitchen.
"Then we would begin to sit in the darkness in the house and hold each
other's hands. We would forgive things that had been said and play a
sort of game, chasing each other about the room in the darkness and
knocking against the chairs and laughing. Then we would begin to look
at each other and kiss. Presently there would be another baby."
The barber threw up his hands with a gesture of impatience. His voice
lost its softer, reminiscent quality. "Such times didn't last," he
said. "On the whole it was no life to live. I came away. The children
are in a state institution and she has gone back to her work in the
office. The town hates me. They have made a heroine of her. I'm here
talking to you with these whiskers on my face so that people from my
town wouldn't know me if they came along. I'm a barber and I would
shave them off fast enough if it wasn't for that."
A woman walking past looked back at McGregor.
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