Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. . \" 66 She commented as more doors slammed. ” 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. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. " "Go, Sir," rejoined the knight, haughtily.
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