” 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. “I’ve tried to make words tell it. This charming episode was repeated three times. But to draw the attention of the milice, no, that is not at all desirable. Wood became sensible that he was not alone. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. ” She smiled artificially as she scanned the audience and located John. "Who, then?" demanded Jack.
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