’ ‘Ah, but there’s the little matter of your presence here,’ said Gerald on a note of apology. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. . ” 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. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. ‘No one is here, Melusine, except you and I.
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