Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

During all these weeks Furze never touched that old toy of his--the piano, for music could say things to him that he did not wish to hear; also he was tired and his need was the sound of a human voice. He asked for two sympathetic ears to listen, and a voice to give back a few words of understanding and encouragement. He was as starved as his fields. He wanted to talk and he had no one to whom he could talk, for he went very rarely now to "Green Shutters," and in the other farms men had troubles of their own.

That loneliness should breed restlessness was inevitable. He came up against the mirror in Mrs. Damaris' parlour and saw himself with a three days' beard on his face, no collar, an old shirt torn at one shoulder and a pair of braces that lacked one of the leather button loops. He was shocked at his own slovenliness. It was the slovenliness of a man who had become the slave of the soil. And suddenly he rebelled. Why grow like a dull beast?