Rebecca

by Daphne du Maurier

I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.

I felt rather exhausted, and wondered, rather shocked at my callous thought, why old people were sometimes such a strain. Worse than young children or puppies because one had to be polite.

All married men with lovely wives are jealous, aren’t they? And some of ’em just can’t help playing Othello.