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him standing there laughing, waving, as if without a care in the world . . . though she knew that in his heart of hearts there was no laughter this moment, not really . . . that he was acting now . . . superbly . . . like the most glorious of Hamlets — having a love affair with his own fears, and guilts . . . and yet horrified by them. And with her continuing to
catch sight of his face — fleetingly . . . there he is . . . (tin music) . . . there he is ! And with her wondering, hurt and silent, if this old toy on which she now stood was not somehow a parody of both their lives this past year and a half of their muchcelebrated love affair . . . this constant movement . . . this not always merry merry-go-round ride they’d been on, together
. . . ever spinning, ever moving, never stopping for a moment . . . and yet an aimless and directionless journey. To where? — she wondered. And to what end? They had arrived in Wales — Liz and Burton — the preceding Tuesday. And she, for one, had been happier then. After all this time — though she had met Richard’s brothers Graham and Ivor Jenkins in
London, plus a scattered assortment of cousins and distant relatives — Richard was now taking her home to meet Cecelia. Or, more widely and affectionately known as “Sis” — the oldest of the eleven Jenkins children. Who had taken care of young Rich ever since he was two, when their mother had died. Who had been from that time, ( Please turn the page)
Wherever they go, and, especially at showbiz parties filled with other glamorous ladies (left), Liz tries never to let Burton out of her sight. Such constant surveillance is a new thing for free-wheeling Rich. Meantime, in New York, a new, radiant Sybil Burton
manages to have a ball with couples from home or “old friends” like Roddy McDowall (above). At right, Liz performs a “family” function at the wedding of Burton’s niece Carolyn Cook. Anxious-to-bea-family-bride Liz even loaned the bride her big Rolls-Royce.