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the door with all my might. The bolt was scarcely drawn, and the door
opened. In a skirt, with high boots, my wife lay awkwardly on the bed.
On the table an empty opium phial. We restored her to life. Tears and
then reconciliation! Not reconciliation; internally each kept the hatred
for the other, but it was absolutely necessary for the moment to end
the scene in some way, and life began again as before. These scenes, and
even worse, came now once a week, now every month, now every day. And
invariably the same incidents. Once I was absolutely resolved to fly,
but through some inconceivable weakness I remained.
"
Such were the circumstances in which we were living when the MAN came.
The man was bad, it is true. But what! No worse than we were."
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