in another star, then half-recalling with extended hand, then forgetting again with hand to mouth, then the gradual dawn of memory and love, and final full recognition.  “It’s Fred, my Fred!” I never got used to it; it always moved me to tears....  It was not to be thought that we had no quarrels.  I still had fits of bad temper, and sometimes they came into collision with A.’s temper.  It hurt my vanity considerably to see how soon she relinquished the respectful, patient, spaniel-bearing she had when we were traveling.  I said some cruel things to her and she retorted.  One would have thought, to hear us, that all affection was over.  But when the mood of rage wore itself out we would both be sorry and make it up with tears, and be very happy in spite of our poverty.

I think it was lust that prevented me from striving to fulfill my ambitions.  A. let me do anything I liked, at all times of day or night, although she seemed surprised at my proceedings sometimes, for it was becoming a fever of lubricity with me.  She still thought only of her love.  I remember her coming in one day, tired, pale, perspiring, and worried—­we had hardly anything in the house and she had been to the theater ineffectually—­and when her eyes lighted on me the whole expression of her face changed, softened and brightened at once, and she came and kissed me and said:  “It is so strange, I was thinking all sorts of nasty things coming along, but as soon as I see my pet’s face I feel happy—­I don’t care for anything—­I would sooner share a crust with him than have all the money in the world!”

I commenced to feel libidinous curiosity to examine her—­this was mostly on Sundays—­and she let me, blushing at first, but laughing.  Then I would try new positions in coitus I had heard of.  Still she did not enter into my mood.

She was engaged at this time to play in a pantomime and I commenced to lead a miserable, jealous existence.  I heard scandal about her, baseless enough, but in the diseased, nervous, anxious state I had brought myself to it nearly drove me mad.  I would go with her sometimes to visit her mother, whom I began to like.  Her brother I still saluted coldly.  It caused me horror and jealousy to see A. kissing him and letting him tickle her.  In my rage, when we came home, I even said that perhaps she would let him do something else, naming it brutally and coarsely.  I remember her shame, astonishment, indignation and tears.  If ever a man tried a woman’s love I did.  But she forgave me, even that.

We went to live in a little cottage.  It was in this cottage that A. first showed signs of lust, and in the diseased state of my mind, instead of regretting it, I encouraged her.  She told me one day that the orgasm very often did not occur at the same time with her as with me, and that it would not unless I put my little finger into the anus.  This her husband taught her, and