” She turned and looked at him. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. ” 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.
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