He had reacted by laughing at her, informing her coolly that she was naïve in many things. Grace, confidence, the power of movement even, seemed gone from her. ” 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. I’m starving. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked.
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