” 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. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. That ring manifestly occupied her thoughts a great deal. ‘Except Captain Roding,’ agreed the old lady, nodding at the butler. "He says he don't understand flash," replied the lady in gentleman's attire.
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