” 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. ’ ‘Believe me, she wouldn’t have cared. ” She replied gently. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy.
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