Marlowe swung his arms about and all but danced across the stage. Not that he could dance other the formal, stilted dances required by court rituals and I doubt he'd ever seen a ballet but the man seemed energised by his brush with death. he stood at the edge of the boards, limned in the limelight. "I am Christopher Marlowe," he declaimed.
"Actually, you're not." said his mysterious editor and assistant. "You're Eddie Shakespeare, remember?"
He made a face reminiscent of a small boy denied a sugared almond. "Aww! Must I? I thought we'd agreed I could be William instead?"