\" Michelle replied, and directed the subject back towards boys. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. ” 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. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. Gerald, meanwhile, was off hunting up these lawyers, together with your son, ma’am—’ turning to Mrs Sindlesham ‘—and you know the outcome of that.
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