” 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. Kneebone's door, you begged me to await your return here, assuring me you would not detain me five minutes. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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