But now his troubles began.
To start with his nerves went to pieces, he suffered from insomnia and
did his work badly. He consulted a doctor. The prescription cost him
three crowns; and such a prescription! He was to stop working; he had
worked too hard, his brain was overtaxed. To stop work would mean
starvation for all of them, and to work spelt death, too!
He went on working.
One day, as he was sitting at his desk, stooping over endless rows of
figures, he had an attack of faintness, slipped off his chair and fell
to the ground.
A visit to a specialist--eighteen crowns. A new prescription; he must
ask for sick leave at once, take riding exercise every morning and
have steak and a glass of port for breakfast.
Riding exercise and port!
But the worst feature of the whole business was a feeling of alienation
from his wife which had sprung up in his heart--he did not know whence
it came. He was afraid to go near her and at the same time he longed for
her presence. He loved her, loved her still, but a certain bitterness
was mingled with his love.
"You are growing thin," said a friend.
"Yes, I believe I've grown thinner," said the poor husband.
"You are playing a dangerous game, old boy!"
"I don't know what you mean!"
"A married man in half mourning! Take care, my friend!"
"I really don't know what you're driving at.
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