She heard him suddenly hiss a dark Hindustani curse and glanced over in surprise. “What in the world was that for?” she whispered. He was not looking at her, nor the stage, but across the theater to another box that was almost pointedly empty. “What?” she whispered again. “Chorlton,” he grunted. “And Pryce and friends. All of whom just left their box one by one. The intermission isn’t for another few songs.”
