The play was ninety minutes with no interval.

She knew this. She had known it for two years. But standing in the wings waiting for the curtain to rise she felt those ninety minutes as a physical weight and a gift simultaneously and she stood in the dark and breathed and waited.

The curtain rose.

She walked on.

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The first scene was a conversation. Just that — two people in a kitchen, talking about something ordinary that was not ordinary at all, the way all the best scenes worked. She knew every word. She knew every beat. She had done this in empty studios on Tuesday mornings with three...