Then he laid it down again and took the thicker end, which was tied tightly with a ribband, in his hands, pulling at the short lengths of hair which projected beyond the knot.

They broke very easily, with an odd, soft snap.
"It is worth nothing at all," said the barber decisively.

"It is a pity, for it is a very pretty colour." Vjera started, and steadied herself against the back of the professional chair which stood by the table.
"Nothing ?" she repeated, half stupid with the pain of her disappointment.
"Nothing?
not even fifteen marks ?" "Nothing.

It is rotten, and could not be worked.

The hairs break like glass." Vjera pressed her left hand to her side as though something hurt her.