May 10, 1665
May 10, 1665When the prompter’s whistle blew, everyone upon the stage froze.
Is it me? Sarah thought. Oh God, let it not be me again!
againShe looked at the other two players. Lucy Absolute’s mouth was already twitching, about to rise into the smile that would inevitably lead to the giggles to which she was so prone; while John Chalker, her John, her rock on the platform and beyond it, was staring at her, the huge and bushy eyebrows scarce seen in nature but affixed to emphasize his character’s bluster, now joining and parting like a signal whose import was obvious. It’s your line, they flashed. For the love of Christ, speak it!
She felt that familiar vacuum in her stomach. She looked out where she had just been seeking … what? The one gaze among so many that had unnerved
