THE BARBER. Don't tell me what you did and what you didn't! She
loved you--and--and I trusted you. You were going to get married.
You took her away with you--and you _didn't_ marry her! Marriage?
Why, you never thought of it! You couldn't get her any other way
--you wanted her--and you got her! You didn't care about me, and
you didn't care about her. She was a toy. She amused you, and
when you were through with her, you flung her into the gutter! It
makes me sick to think of it! (_He goes on more quietly._) She
came home six months later. How she got back all the way from
where you'd taken her, I don't know--and I don't like to guess.
And then-then--
THE CUSTOMER. I'll marry _her_ now, Kilburn.
THE BARBER. You'll have to ask her about that.
THE CUSTOMER. (_Eagerly_) Well?
THE BARBER. In two minutes you'll be _able_ to ask her.
THE CUSTOMER. What do you mean?
THE BARBER. She's dead, John--dead.
(_THE CUSTOMER groans. Then, suddenly, he tries to rise. THE
BARBER places his hand over his forehead and eyes, and forces him
back into the chair._)
THE BARBER. Thirty seconds for your prayers, John!
THE CUSTOMER. Don't kill me, man! Don't kill me! I'm not fit to
die! I'm not ready! A minute! Two minutes! I'm too young! Don't
kill--
(_THE BARBER, still with his hand upon the other man's eyes,
suddenly seizes a wet towel and strikes him across the throat
with it. THE CUSTOMER faints. THE BARBER looks at him
contemptuously; abruptly raises the chair to a sitting position;
puts away the razor._)
THE BARBER. So your nerve gave way, John? Your nerve gave way?
(_He spreads the towel over THE CUSTOMER's face and roughly wipes
away the lather._)
THE CUSTOMER. (_Beginning to come to; faintly_) Where am I?
THE BARBER. You ought to be in hell, but I guess you're still on
God's good earth.
THE CUSTOMER. (_Putting his hand to his throat_) You--you didn't
kill me?
THE BARBER. No. I didn't.
THE CUSTOMER. (_Standing up_) And you could have!
THE BARBER. John, when you're just about to cross the river, when
your eyes are beginning to glaze and your heart's about to stop
beating, you won't be nearer death than you were a minute ago!
THE CUSTOMER. _Why_ didn't you kill me?
THE BARBER. It wouldn't bring back Jennie, would it?
THE CUSTOMER. (_With a sneer_) Were you afraid?
THE BARBER. After I had been looking forward to it for twelve
years? No.