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 We hurried through lunch. I had no appetite. He took some few mouthfuls, drank three or four glasses of madeira, one after another, and said: 'Now we must pack.'

In the bedroom everything was upside down. On the bed and on the chairs lay clothes, boots, cigar-boxes, books, shirts, and ties. On the floor stood his trunks; the drawers were all pulled out in the dressing-table, and the wardrobe-doors stood wide open.

I started packing. Then he remembered that he had forgotten to buy writing paper, asked me to excuse him for a moment, and went out.

I stood in the room, where every corner spoke of preparation for travel, and a desolate sense of misery crept over me. Mechanically I took the clothes, I folded them piece by piece, and laid them in the big trunk. I bent down, I stood up, down and up, down and up, piece after piece I packed, now this, now that, in a short time it would all be over and I should be alone, alone.

I stood up terrified. No, no, I will not, I dare not be alone. He must not leave, I will beg and pray him to stay, and I am sure he will do as I ask. He won't have the heart to leave me. It would be cruel of him, and he has no right to treat me like that.

Then I heard the door bang; he came singing into the sitting-room, and when he came in to me, I was again busily packing.

'How clever you are,' he said, and stroked my