” He went to the window and fidgeted with the blind, looking out to where the tree-tops of Regent’s Park showed distantly over the houses. It isn't as if he were stricken with typhoid or pneumonia or something like that. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard. ” He did not appear to require any answer to his question. Something in her tone made him look up. ” 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. The theme was a masquerade.
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