Multitude and Solitude
By John Masefield
24 Feb, 2020
What play do they play? Some confounded play or other.
Let's send for some cards. I ne'er saw a play had anything in't. A True Widow.
Roger Naldrett, the writer, sat in his box with a friend, watching the second act of his tragedy. The first act ha
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What play do they play? Some confounded play or other.
Let's send for some cards. I ne'er saw a play had anything in't. A True Widow.
Roger Naldrett, the writer, sat in his box with a friend, watching the second act of his tragedy. The first act had been received coldly; the cast was nervous, and the house, critical as a first-night audience always is, had begun to fidget. He watched his failure without much emotion. He had lived through his excitement in the days before the production; but the moment interested him, it was so unreal. The play was not like the play which he had watched so often in rehearsal. Unless some speech jarred upon him, as failing to help the action, he found that he could not judge of it in detail. In the manuscript, and in the rehearsals, he had tested it only in detail. Now he saw it as a whole, as something new, as a rough and strong idea, of which he could make nothing. Less