Raymond

'Uncle', he cried, as the echoes died away.

'S'h', said Sir Aylmer testily, and Freddie, with a dull despair, perceived that they were going to get an encore.

Of all the far-flung myriads who year in and year out have listened to bands playing the overture to Raymond, few can ever have chafed as did Frederick Fitch-Fitch now. This suspense was unmanning him, this delay was torture. [...] He wondered dully as he sat there how the opera Raymond had ever managed to get itself performed, if the overture was as long as this. They must have rushed it through in the last five minutes of the evening as the audience groped for its hats and wraps.

But there is an end to all things, even to the overture from Raymond.

Eggs, Beans and Crumpets. 6 Romance at Droitgate Spa