The cause of the fight was very obscure, and though we saw and heard everything perfectly, we still didn't really understand. However, the emotions expressed were plain enough.
"You aren't going to die, Marge," my future self was yelling at her. "Try and get that through your damned thick stupid skull!"
"I am! I am!" she was screaming back at me. "You know I'm going to die. You want to get rid of me. Our marriage has been one long fight from the start."
"Don't talk such damned rot," my future self hollered back at her. "There's probably a perfectly good explanation for it all and you're too ignorant to see it!"
"The only explanation is that I'm going to die," future Marge insisted. She broke down, sobbing into an already saturated handkerchief.
My future self stamped around the room, cursing and furiously kicking the furniture. "Why don't you find out for sure? Why don't you go in closer and find out the real reason?"
She sobbed even louder. "I daren't! You do it for me. Go find out for yourself and then tell me."
That seemed to make my future self even madder. "You know I wouldn't touch one of those things even to save my life. I mean it, too! Besides, if you do die, it'll be your own fault. You'll have believed yourself to death! You think you're going to die and now you won't be happy until you are dead."
Future Marge began to sob hysterically and my Marge, who had been right beside me, suddenly seemed to grow a little more remote.
Then a strange thing happened. My future self stopped pacing up and down the room and turned to look straight at me with the queerest expression on his face. That was enough for me. I got out of there fast and flipped back to the peace and security of 2017.