When I entreat her to give up such associates, her
only answer is to accuse me of selfishness, since I have friends
myself, and yet won't permit her to have any. And things have gone
from bad to worse. Several nights of late, when I have got home, she
has been away, and has not returned till much after midnight. Hour
after hour I have sat there in the extremest misery, waiting,
waiting, feeling as though my brain would burst with its strain! I
have no idea where she goes to. If I ask, she only retorts by asking
me where I spend the nights when I am with you, and laughs
contemptuously when I tell her the truth. Her suspicions and
jealousy are incessant, and torture me past endurance. Once or
twice, I confess, I have lost patience, and have spoken angrily, too
angrily; then she has accused me of brutal disregard of her
sufferings. It would hurt me less if she pierced me with a knife.
Only this morning there was a terrible scene; she maddened me past
endurance by her wretched calumnies--accusing me of I know not
what disgraceful secrets--and when words burst from me
involuntarily, she fell into hysterics, and shrieked till all the
people in the house ran up in alarm. Can you understand what this
means to one of my temperament? To have my private affairs forced
upon strangers in this way tortures me with the pains of hell.
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