George Bergeron:
Hazel, if I take them off, I'm gonna want to keep them off. And we both know how we would feel about that.
Hazel Bergeron:
I'd hate it.
George Bergeron:
So, nothing to be done, then. Compare this to the Vonnegut story, in which it says,
"All of a sudden you look so tired," said Hazel. "Why don't you stretch out on the sofa, so's you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch." She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, which was padlocked around George's neck. "Go on and rest the bag for a little while," she said. "I don't care if you're not equal to me for a while."George weighed the bag with his hands. "I don't mind it," he said. "I don't notice it any more. It's just a part of me.""You been so tired lately—kind of wore out," said Hazel. "If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few.""Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out," said George. "I don't call that a bargain.""If you could just take a few out when you came home from work," said Hazel. "I mean—you don't compete with anybody around here. You just set around.""If I tried to get away with it," said George, "then other people'd get away with it—and pretty soon we'd be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn't like that, would you?""I'd hate it," said Hazel."There you are," said George. "The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?"
