He did make a fight for it, such an one as few men have made and come
out safely. For those who dwell in the Pit never suffer as do they who
struggle with this appetite. He was too wise to give it up all at once.
He diminished the dose gradually, but still very perceptibly. As it was,
it made a marked change in him. The necessary effort of the will gave a
kind of hard coldness to his face, and he used to walk his garden for
hours at night in conflict with his enemy. His nerves were uncertain,
but, strange to say, when (it was not often) any serious case of illness
came under his hands, he was somehow able to pull himself together and do
his task gallantly enough. But he had had no important surgical case
since he began his cure. In his heart he lived in fear of one; for he
was not quite sure of himself. In spite of effort to the contrary he
became irritable, and his old pleasant fantasies changed to gloomy and
bizarre imaginings.

The wife never knew what it cost her husband thus, day by day, to take a
foe by the throat and hold him in check. She did not guess that he knew
if he dropped back even once he could not regain himself: this was his
idiosyncrasy. He did not find her a great help to him in his trouble.
She was affectionate, but she had not much penetration even where he was
concerned, and she did not grasp how much was at stake. She thought
indeed that he should be able to give it up all at once. He was tender
with her, but he wished often that she could understand him without
explanation on his part. Many a time he took out the little bottle with
a reckless hand, but conquered himself. He got most help, perhaps, from
the honest, cheerful eye of Medallion and the stumbling timorous
affection of the Little Chemist. They were perfectly disinterested
friends--his wife at times made him aware that he had done her a wrong,
for he had married her with thus appetite on him. He did not defend