He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. People were passing in the street below. Her sister’s words were true. ” 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 spoke English with astonishing facility and with a purity which often embarrassed his tourists. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours. I can be a gentleman.
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