Ann Veronica’s universe, which had never been altogether so respectful to her as she could have wished, gave a shout and whirled head over heels. ” 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. “Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. “You would be wise to loosen your purse-strings, Gianfrancesco. Only of course I must begin something else at once.
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