” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. “But perhaps I want to confess them. You thanked me tersely, then, barely noticing my existence you went right back to your conversation! I was somewhat crushed but my spirits were lifted when the butcher revealed who your husband-to-be was.
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