Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

How was she to guess that she had put the shears to the head of her poor Samson?

Or--rather---it was he who had put the shears into the hands of her youth. He was blind, though this blindness had come slowly like a creeping paralysis, and gradually he had been made to realize that he could not see things as he had been accustomed to see them. Simply because a little artery had burst, and the oozing blood had forced its way among the fibres of his self-confidence and was destroying it, the confidence that had enabled him to take risks successfully. He had lost his intuitive touch.