” 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. And so —’ ‘And so she was able to become my—’ Melusine did not say it, for wet-nurse no longer seemed appropriate. John Sheppard.
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