” 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. I've a shrewd guess where he's taken refuge; but I'll ferret him out. She laughed a little contemptuously. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself. “I will believe you.
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