As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. ” 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. ‘She would say, espéce de diable, this Melusine. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence.
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