The determination to save time now so as to be able to begin a new life sometime in the future had embedded itself in his soul like a poisoned arrow.
When the first customer of the day turned up, Mr Figaro gave him a surly reception.
By doing no more than was absolutely necessary and keeping his mouth shut, he got through in twenty minutes instead of the usual thirty.
From now on he subjected every customer to the same treatment. Although he ceased to enjoy his work, that was of secondary importance.
He engaged two assistants in addition to his apprentice and watched them like a hawk to see they didn't waste a moment.
Every move they made was geared to a precise timetable, in accordance with the notice that now adorned the wall of the barbershop:
TIME SAVED IS TIME DOUBLED!
Mr Figaro wrote Miss Daria a brief, businesslike note regretting that pressure of work would prevent him from seeing her in the future.
His budgerigar he sold to a pet shop. As for his mother, he put her in an inexpensive old folks' home and visited her once a month.
In the belief that the gray stranger's recommendations were his own decisions, he carried them out to the letter.
Meanwhile, he was becoming increasingly restless and irritable.
The odd thing was that, no matter how much time he saved, he never had any to spare; in some mysterious way, it simply vanished.
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