Some further time passed. I sat by the fireless grate with my chin in my
hand. If the storm outside was still raging I did not hear it. I was
listening to the confused sounds that came from the sitting-room.
My husband was pacing to and fro, muttering oaths, knocking against the
furniture, breaking things. At one moment there was a crash of glass, as
if he had helped himself to brandy and then in his ungovernable passion
flung the decanter into the fire grate.
Somebody knocked at the sitting-room. It must have been a waiter, for
through the wall I heard the muffled sound of a voice asking if there
had been an accident. My husband swore at the man and sent him off.
Hadn't he told him not to come until he was rung for?
At length, after half an hour perhaps, my husband knocked at the door of
my little room.
"Are you there?" he asked.