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Rising Action: Act TwoRising ActionAct Two. Jeanette.My brother Antony, my sister Anna and I came to Rapture not quite a year after it opened. It almost seemed enchanted, wrapped around grand pillars and carvings and watched by the silvery fish that drifted by in shoals the size of an entire room. A whole section of the city had been set aside for art and music and theatre, and when Anna and I sang there as the Chaffinches we got to the point where we were drawing a crowd and a half. And Antony managed to get back into business, which pleased him to no end he took advantage of our early arrival to start trading fish, which seems obvious really but still made him an unsightly amount of money.For a long, wonderful time the city lived up to its name, shimmering like a pearl, treating us like the virtuous of the world that Andrew Ryan had chosen to pluck out and reward.Oh, Andrew Ryan. Mister Andrew Ryan.The first time I met him was at a huge expensive dinner in the Kashmir Restaurant, in...
Rising Action: Act OneRising ActionAct One. Antony.All three of us were sent the same letter. Mine fell into the basket not the wastepaper basket, I mean I have one on the back of the door, to catch the mail, you see, ingenious really on the Saturday, in a crisp white envelope, carefully sealed, outside of the Post Offices usual hours. I remember the address being hand-lettered, but very neatly: tall, curving characters. For a Mr. A. Culpepper of Cambridge, England.Well, that as you might have guessed it already is me. And incuriosity is beyond a Culpepper. I pulled that envelope open right there at the door. Used to have the handiest little letter-opener, shaped like a tiny broadsword no less, but no. After the war, just no.But the letter. The letter it was an invitation, neatly typed beneath the letterhead of an American industrialist whose name had intruded on my awareness once or twice. One Mr. Andrew Ryan. He was talking about a new city