He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. Why would your mother be so impatient?” Lucy speculated. ” 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. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible.
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