” 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 screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh. Don't be afraid—I won't hurt you. More,’ he said, ‘but I’m told it’s the most amusing thing in London at the present time. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively.
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