” 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. ’ ‘A mistake, I agree. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. " "What for?" demanded the turnkey.
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