"But Delilah, my strength is in my hair."
"O lover, lover, don't be silly!"
"Also, my parents took a vow—"
"But darling, your parents never knew you were to be such a great man, and that you would have to command respect from the nation—"
"Of course, of course. But, Delilah, if my strength goes—"
"Dearest, it won't go. How could it?"
"And they won't have anything to criticize then! Ha! Then off it comes!"
She was so happy, the tears came into her eyes. This strange desire to wear his hair long as a woman's had been a bugbear to her. This foppishness, freakishness, superstition, whatever it was, it made him remarkable. She could n't suffer to have men smile at him.
"If you only knew how happy you make me!"
He was ludicrously nervous as she shore off the great red braids. He was more, he was frightened. The burden gone, he strolled casually around, picked up a little bar of iron at the fireplace, twisted it to form a loop, was satisfied. Glanced at himself in the long metal mirror, smiled.