What Bloody Man is That? [antikvár]

Chapter One Charles Paris looked out from the bar of the Pinero Theatre, Warminster, over the gathering September twilight, and felt mildly guilty that he wasn't really listening to what Gavin Scholes was saying. The warmth of the third large Bell's and the glow of being in work cocooned him and he only caught the occasional word of the director's exposition of Macbeth. "For me, Charles, it's the tragedy of an unimaginative man, whose imagination, which has for so long lain dormant, is suddenly awakened. And he doesn't know how to cope with this new dimension in his life." "Ah." "Don't you see it that way?" "Well,er " "So, I mean, the Weird Sisters. . . well, they just knock him sideways. His mind's kind of invaded by these alien thoughts that he can't understand. You know, 'there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy' " "Surely that's Hamlet, isn't it?" "Erm yes, of course it is, but I always think that in approaching a Shakespeare, one has to think in terms of the Complete Works." "Ah." "Each play is just another facet of the sparkling diamond that was Shakespeare's Genius. Don't you agree, Charles?" "Weil, er . . ." The actor didn't feel up to pursuing this metaphor. He indicated the director's wine glass. "Get you another of those, Gavin?" "Thanks."