. ” 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. “What’s odd?” “Oh, everything!” She shivered, and went to the fire and poked it. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time.
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