I thought of these things, and I smoked, and smoked, and smoked.

I thought of running away, of making my escape, of going to America.

I went so far as to dream how beautiful it would be, after getting rid of her, to love another woman, entirely different from her.

I should be rid of her if she should die or if I should get a divorce, and I tried to think how that could be managed.

I saw that I was getting confused, but, in order not to see that I was not thinking rightly, I kept on smoking.
"And the life of the house went on as usual.