The fates are never so kind to me. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Don’t leave me in this beastly thing. PITT, the keeper of Newgate. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. ” 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. She went to the basement and shed her sodden coat and scarf, tossing them into her favorite modern appliance, the electric dryer.
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