"Joe Blaine … of what?"
"Of the printery … that burned…."
She looked at him sharply.
"So, you're the employer."
"Yes, I am."
"Well," she said, brusquely, "what do you want?"
"I heard you speak this afternoon." His face flickered with a smile.
"And so you …?"
He could say nothing; and she looked closer. She saw his gray face, his unsteady eyes, the tragedy of the broken man. Then she spoke with a lovely gentleness.
"You want to do something?"