. . . a bad dress rehearsal means a good first night. That had better be true, because yesterday was a disaster. Scenes that had been coming together fell apart as every one of us fluffed lines and movements and cues. The more nervous we got, the worse the performances. Tracy the director's always severe expression turned volcanic, but the expected explosion never came; I think she realised it would make no difference.
Am I looking forward to tonight? Yes, but only the bit where we drown our sorrows in the bar . . .
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