She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. ” 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. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. Lost in thought, Lucy barely heard Mrs. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. “You’re.
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