” He smiled bitterly as he handed her from the cab. "You read it, Ruth. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why. H’m. ‘Here we go again. You can, too, if you wish. ” 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 will not confide in me.
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