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.