You Had To Endure Something Yourself Before

I Wish I Was A Woman Of About Thirty-six Dressed In Black Satin With A String Of Pearls.

Here Was The Freedom I Desired, Long Sought-for, Not Yet Known Freedom To Write, To Walk, To Wander, Freedom To Climb Hills, To Pull A Boat, To Be Alone.

Last Night I Dreamt I Went To Manderley Again.

How Lacking In Intuition Men Could Be In Persuading Themselves That Mending Some Stranger's Socks, And Attending To His Comfort, Could Content A Woman.

I Could Fight With The Living But I Could Not Fight The Dead. If There Was Some Woman In London That Maxim Loved, Someone He Wrote To, Visited, Dined With, Slept With, I Could Fight Her. We Would Stand On Common Ground. I Should Not Be Afraid. Anger And Jealousy Were Things That Could Be Conquered. One Day The Woman Would Grow Old Or Tired Or Different, And Maxim Would Not Love Her Anymore. But Rebecca Would Never Grow Old. Rebecca Would Always Be The Same. And She And I Could Not Fight. She Was To Strong For Me.