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passed, and still she did not come. Two sentiments kept succeeding each
other in my soul,--hatred of her, since she tortured myself and the
children by her absence, but would finally return just the same, and
fear lest she might return and make some attempt upon herself. But where
should I look for her? At her sister's? It seemed so stupid to go to ask
where one's wife is. Moreover, may God forbid, I hoped, that she should
be at her sister's! If she wishes to torment any one, let her torment
herself first. And suppose she were not at her sister's.
"Suppose she were to do, or had already done, something.
"
Eleven o'clock, midnight, one o'clock. . . . I did not sleep. I did not
go to my chamber. It is stupid to lie stretched out all alone, and to
wait. But in my study I did not rest. I tried to busy myself, to write
letters, to read. Impossible! I was alone, tortured, wicked, and
I listened. Toward daylight I went to sleep. I awoke. She had not
returned. Everything in the house went on as usual, and all looked at
me in astonishment, questioningly. The children's eyes were full of
reproach for me.
"And always the same feeling of anxiety about her, and of hatred because
of this anxiety.
"Toward eleven o'clock in the morning came her sister, her ambassadress.
Then began the usual phrases: 'She is in a terrible state. What is
the matter?' 'Why, nothing has happened.' I spoke of her asperity of
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