One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancieD that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fiber of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.
Det är vad jag läser just nu.
Förlåt mig dom kommande dagarna om jag uppträder som ett psyko.
Lillemor säger att hon inte vill tala med mig på några dagar efter jag hetsigt återgett denna historia.
Fem minuter senare hörde jag att hon var i telefon och talade med nyckelmakare om byta om lås och egen nyckel. Det var ord som återkom ofta i samtalet.
