'Heaven has spared her the pain of knowing him,' ambiguously interpolated her anxious protector.
'I don't even know his name,' added the Bube. 'Yossel keeps it hidden.'
'One must not shame a fellow-man,' Yossel urged. 'The sin of that is equal to the sin of shedding blood.'
The grandmother nodded her head approvingly. 'It is enough that the All-High knows his name. But for such an Epicurean much praying will be necessary. It will be a long work. And your first prayer, Yossel, must be that you shall not die very soon, else the labourer will not be worthy of his hire.'
Yossel took her yellow withered hand as in a lover's clasp. 'Be at peace, Yenta! He will be redeemed if only by your merits. Are we not one?'