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” Her hand fell back into her lap. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. ” That phrase about dragging the truth through swamps of nonsense she remembered from Capes. ” 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. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know.
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