She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. He figures them out, though. ” 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 could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. Somewhere you may stumble upon a clew to his identity. It was situated off a little hallway that led also to the kitchens and the back door to the outside. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him.
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