You'll have to find something else to do."
"What will I find to do?"
What, indeed? McTeague was over thirty now, sluggish and slow-witted at
best. What new trade could he learn at this age?
Little by little Trina made the dentist understand the calamity that had
befallen them, and McTeague at last began cancelling his appointments.
Trina gave it out that he was sick.
"Not a soul need know what's happened to us," she said to her husband.
But it was only by slow degrees that McTeague abandoned his profession.
Every morning after breakfast he would go into his "Parlors" as usual
and potter about his instruments, his dental engine, and his washstand
in the corner behind his screen where he made his moulds. Now he would
sharpen a "hoe" excavator, now he would busy himself for a whole hour
making "mats" and "cylinders." Then he would look over his slate where
he kept a record of his appointments.
One day Trina softly opened the door of the "Parlors" and came in from
the sitting-room. She had not heard McTeague moving about for some time
and had begun to wonder what he was doing. She came in, quietly shutting
the door behind her.
McTeague had tidied the room with the greatest care.
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