She was waging a tremendous battle. She wished to forget everything. All was over! Too late! It was so decreed by Fate! Yet a frightful, poignant yearning held her in its grip. And in the solitude of night she would moisten the pillow with hot tears that rolled slowly down her cheeks. And often it would seem to her that there would come a day,—who knew in how many years around?—when he would come falling at her feet and.... Ah, she had never thought the matter out to its conclusion.... But he must not learn of her sufferings! And Chashke would take courage, breathe more easily, and be the first to speak. “How are you getting along? Plenty of work?” Yes. On this topic he could find ever so much to say. But he felt sad at heart. He then replied in a nasal tone, “Nothing to complain. Work is the least of my worries.” “For whom are you making purses now?” she asked, ignoring his last words. “For Etkin,” he replied, curtly, as if angry that she should harp on that theme. But no, he must really tell her how, from his own former employer, Mayshe Baruch, he had won away as a customer the shopkeeper Etkin. That was certainly interesting. And gradually he became engrossed in his talk and warmed to his subject, telling how he had brought a piece of his work into Etkin’s and how everybody had viewed it with delight. And at once he received a big order for more. And Mayshe Baruch had met him and tried to intimidate him by threatening to slap his face. Ha-ha-ha, he had found the right one to scare! No sirree! He’d show Mayshe! He would go in to Brzerzinski, for whom Mayshe Baruch did work, and let Mayshe try to do something to him! Aha! He’d put Mayshe Baruch out of business in a jiffy.... And he was even considering going in to Abraham Baer’s customers. He had a score to settle with Abraham Baer. He knew all his customers, even those from out of town, and he would send quotations for work to all of them.... He’d show them!... He’d lead the bosses a merry dance! Chashke listened with delight. But a single question weighed upon her heavily; she could not repress it. She lowered her head over her work and asked, with a stifled voice, “How is your Chyenke?” He interrupted his account and suddenly became sad once more. “How should she be? She works.” And again he stared vacantly through the window. She remained bent over her work, without raising her eyes. And soon they parted, with hearts as heavy as stone.... But later he became so engrossed in his work that he forgot the burden of his heart. He grew accustomed to Chyenke and became more talkative. And once he began to tell her how he used to quarrel with his employers and get the best of them. She laughed. Yes, she knew all about him and his pranks. “I never spoke a pleasant word to any of them. Not even with the best of them,” he told her. “I always showed them my claws.”