” 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. Besides, I do not want a price on my head. He brightened as she took off her hood. “I thought you weren’t keeping up to the mark. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly.
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