In the evening Igor said that during the day, while I was at the bank, a man had come in.
"What man?"
"Elderly. Not a customer, he didn't bring anything. He asked how long the shop had been going and whether it had come to me from my father." Igor shrugged. "Pleasant, polite. I say: from my father, this is the thirty-first year. He asked whether any of my father's tools were left."
I stood there holding the kettle.
"And you?"
"And I said some were." Igor looked at me. "Why?"
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