” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. Of course, why not? She would be honest, anyhow! She turned her eyes to Manning. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. Ed. 1.
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