She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. Those were dreams. She and her husband have no children and ten computers. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. ‘Tee-ree-sa. ” 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.
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