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Strindberg, August, 1849-1912

"Married"

"
"Was he jealous?"
"Yes! Why not? He was afraid that something might come between them."
"What a shame to be jealous! What an insult! What distrust! What did
he think of her?"
"That she was perfect. He would prove it. She could go alone!"
"Could she really? How condescending of him!"
She went. She did not come home until the early hours of the morning.
She awakened her husband and told him how well it had all gone off. He
was delighted to hear it. Somebody had made a speech about her; they
had sung quartets and ended with a dance.
"And how had she come home?"
"The young ass had accompanied her to the front door."
"Supposing anybody who knew them had seen her at three o'clock in the
morning in the company of the young ass?"
"Well, and what then? She was a respectable woman."
"Yes, but she might easily lose her reputation."
"Ah! He was jealous, and what was even worse, he was envious. He
grudged her every little bit of fun. That was what being married
meant! To be scolded if one dared to go out and enjoy oneself a
little. What a stupid institution marriage was! But was their union a
true marriage? They met one another at night, just as other married
couples did. Men were all alike.


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