The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. "Yes. ” 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. She glanced at him. ‘I think that was what began his downfall.
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