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April 20, 2006

In Richard Greenberg’s "Three Days of Rain," the existential enigmas and conundrums of faith that always pepper this playwright’s work assume a tantalizingly dichotomous form that. … Excuse me, I was talking. What? How is she? How’s who? Oh, her. O.K., if you must know, she’s stiff with self-consciousness (especially in the first act), only glancingly acquainted with the two characters she plays and so deeply, disturbingly beautiful that you don’t want to let her out of your sight. Now can we go back to discussing Mr. Greenberg’s play?

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