Lurking in the wings may be somebody else. Not the recognized performer out in front: with his lines all written for him scene by scene, and every inflection, gesture, stance rehearsed to promote (to a last nuance) the latest and most glitteringly chic of hits. But somebody else:m not listed at all who urgently, inchoately from where he's hid may be trying in a muffled voice to cry "But this isn't it!m This isn't what in the least is meant!" If he were somehow to get himself out: if he were to bolt on to the lighted stage and blurt aloud whatever it is -- O mercy upon us! How a whole house from gallery to stalls might be shaken -- shaken! -- as if by a quake. And this au courant audience (so classily in the know) to what Awful Summons suddenly be exposed?