He stood up abruptly and went to the window. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. “Better state of mind,” she gasped. . ” 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. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped.
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