“I’d give anything to kiss your neck. ” 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. ‘Why do you stand there? Take him up, and bring him out at once. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. A millionaire and a knight, even though his money has been made in carpets, is used to being a person of interest. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison.
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