Chapter 451:

"-My wife Constantia performed here many times and I can say it was very successful. Of course, before the war."
"Sorry to close this place."
"It's true. But I'm afraid there is no final miracle. Elysium will disintegrate in six weeks, and everything is over. I just want you to know other benefits besides commercial purposes. I am monitoring the program that is about to end. We act as guardian angels. We wish you hello, Terence, and we all wish you hello." In short, this is a real emotion. Galloway was moved by this person's concern and punished him. This made his own stepping stone ambitiously unpleasant. Lichfield went on to say: "We would love to see this theater end life in a suitable style and then die."
"Damn shame."
"It's too late, unfortunately it's too late. We should never give up Dionysus for Apollo."
"what?"
"Sell yourself to accountants, legality, to... Mr. Hammersmith, his soul, if any, must be the size of my nails and the back of a lice. We should have the courage to describe us, I think . He is a poet and lives under the stars."
Galloway did not fully follow this allusion, but he was universally recognized and respected the point of view. When he stepped down and left, Diane's voice cut a solemn atmosphere like a plastic knife.
"Terry? Are you there?"
The spell was broken: Galloway was unaware of the existence of Hypnotic Lichfield until another voice came between them. Listening to his voice is like being shocked by a familiar weapon. Lichfield walked to the end of the stage, lowering his voice to a file of conspiracy.
"One last thing, Terence-"
"Yes?"
"Your viola. If you forgive me for pointing it out, she lacks the special qualities required by the role." Galloway caught fire.
Lichfield continued: "I know that personal loyalty can hinder the honesty of these things."
"No," Galloway replied, "you are right. But she is very popular."
"It's so tempting, Terence."
There was a bright smile below the edge, shrouded in shadow like the smile of a Cheshire Gate. "I'm just kidding," Litchfield said, now his rude laughter. "Bears will be charming."
"Terry, you are there."
Diane, dressed as usual, appeared from behind the tongue of the shoe. There must be an embarrassing confrontation. But Lichfield followed the false view of the hedge to the background. "I'm here," Terry said.
"Who are you talking to?"
But Litchfield left as smoothly and quietly as he entered. Diane didn't even see him go. "Oh, just an angel," Galloway said.
In all respects, the first dress rehearsal was not as bad as Galloway had expected: it was really bad. Tips are lost, props are misplaced, and entrances are lost; the comics business seems to be poor and laborious. The performance was either hopeless or exhausted. This is the twelfth night, and it seems to last a year. In the middle of the third act, Galloway glanced at his watch and realized that Macbeth's interval unabridged performance would end.
He sat on a chair with his head in his hands, thinking about the work he still had to do to put this work into practice. This is not the first time he feels helpless when facing casting problems in a performance. Prompts can be tightened, props can be rehearsed, and entrances can be practiced until they are engraved on memory. But a bad actor is a bad actor is a bad actor. He can work hard until the end of the world becomes neat and sharp, but he can't make Diana Duval's sow ears.
With all the skills of an acrobat, she strives to play various roles, ignoring every opportunity to move the audience, and avoiding the playwright's insistence on putting out every nuance. Its performance is impotent, represents a hero, and reduces the subtle characteristics of Galloway's difficulty in producing a single-tone whine. This viola is soap papaya seeds, less than hedgerowers, and green.
Critics will kill her.
To make matters worse, Lichfield will be disappointed. To his great surprise, the influence of Lichfield's appearance has not diminished. Galloway cannot forget his cast, his posture, his words. This incident moved him deeper than he was about to admit. The thought of taking this viola on the twelfth night and becoming Lichfield's beloved swan of paradise made him feel bothered and embarrassed. It seems a bit ungrateful. Long before he was seriously involved in the industry, he often gave adequate warnings about the burden of his directors. His dear guru at the Actors Center who was leaving, the beloved glass-eyed man, told Galloway from the beginning: "The director is the loneliest person on earth. He knows that a performance is good or bad. Or if he deserves salt, he should
It didn't seem to be that difficult at the time.
People who are well-loved often say: "This work is not about success, but about learning not to fall on a tight face." Facts have proved that this is a good suggestion. He can still see widely loved people exuding wisdom on the plate. Galloway had thought that no one on earth loves drama more than a passionate person. There is no doubt that no one will excuse it for it. Take the nose.
When they finished the poor experience, walked through the notes, and fell into a sleepy, resentful late night, it was almost early morning. Galloway didn't want their company tonight: no evening drink of one person or others, no mutual self-massage. He is covered with gloomy dark clouds, wine, women and songs will not dispel it. He could barely make himself look like Diana. The notes he gave her were aired in front of other actors, so acidic. Not that it would be good to do so.
In the hall, he met Tallulah, and although the old lady had been in bed for a long time, he was still very angry.
"Are you going to lock it tonight?" He asked her, besides because he was really curious, what else he wanted to say. She said: "I am always locked up." She is over seventy years old: too old to work at the box office, and too tenacious to move away easily. But it's all academic now, isn't it? He wanted to know what her reaction was when she heard the news of the closure. This might break her fragile heart. Did Hammersmith tell him that Tallulah has been to the theater since she was 15 years old?
"Good night Tallulah."
As always, she nodded to him. Then she reached out and took Galloway's arm.
"Yes?"
She began to say, "Mr. Litchfield."
"Then... Where is Mr. Lichfield?"
"He doesn't like to rehearse."
"Is he here tonight?"
"Oh, yes," she replied, as if Galloway didn't want to think in other ways, "Of course he is in it."
"Um... it doesn't matter. He is not very happy."
Galloway tried to sound indifferent.
"This can't do anything."
"Your performance is very close to his heart."
"I realize this," Galloway said, avoiding Tallulah's accusations. He has enough ability to keep him awake tonight, and the voice that won't let her down rang in his ears.
He released his arm and prepared to enter the door. Tallulah did not try to stop him. She just said, "You should have seen Constantia."
Constantine? Where did he hear this name? Of course Lichfield's wife.
"She is a great viola."
He is tired from the exhausted actress. Isn't she dead? He said she was dead, didn't he?
"Great," Tallulah said again.
"Good night, Tallulah. See you tomorrow."
The old woman did not answer. If she was offended by his brutal behavior, so be it. He left her to complain and faced the street.
It was cold in late November. There is no balsam in the night air, only the smell of tar from the newly paved road and the smell of sand in the wind.
Galloway pulled the collar of his jacket to the back of his neck and hurried to Murphy's bed and breakfast shelter.
In the hall, Tallulah turned to the cold and dark world outside and returned to the hall of dreams. It has become so tired now: with use and age, it is like her own body. It's time to let the natural process pay the price. It doesn't make sense to let things go beyond the allocation. The buildings are the same as people. However, Elysium must die honorably.
Separately, she drew back the red curtains to cover the portraits from the hall to the stall in the corridor. Irving Barrymore, a good name and a good actor. The picture may fade and fade, but the memory is as clear and fresh as spring water. What is proud of is that the last part of the series is about to be unveiled, which is a portrait of Konstantin Lichfield. Beautiful face makes the anatomist cry of bone structure.
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