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—