The fact is that we had absolutely incompatible dispositions and
habits of thought and action, and our danger and isolation only
accentuated the incompatibility.  At Halliford I had already come to
hate the curate's trick of helpless exclamation, his stupid rigidity
of mind.  His endless muttering monologue vitiated every effort I made
to think out a line of action, and drove me at times, thus pent up and
intensified, almost to the verge of craziness.  He was as lacking in
restraint as a silly woman.  He would weep for hours together, and I
verily believe that to the very end this spoiled child of life thought
his weak tears in some way efficacious.  And I would sit in the
darkness unable to keep my mind off him by reason of his
importunities.  He ate more than I did, and it was in vain I pointed
out that our only chance of life was to stop in the house until the
Martians had done with their pit, that in that long patience a time
might presently come when we should need food.  He ate and drank
impulsively in heavy meals at long intervals.  He slept little.