“I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. ” Mike said, with unsubtle jealousy. ” 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. Unexpectedly he found himself speeding toward the father. \"I guess so. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness.
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