It was the third time this week that the house was filled with the sound of breaking glass, and it was only Wednesday today. I shuddered slightly at the thought. There would be three more days to go through before the blessed Sabbath day. Even he know better than to make me work on a Sunday. I try very hard to make sure that none of the pieces ever prick me, but once in a while an errant shard gets through. It finely slices through my frail resistance before producing tears of blood. A single perfect drop of red sets like a ruby in the glass. I can sit and admire it for hours; but I know how he will react if he sees the blood. I would laugh, if I could. For a macho man, he can be quite a sissy when it comes to blood. I shake myself out of my reverie. There was too much left to do yet.