” 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. "What has caused this quarrel, Thames?" asked the little girl, anxiously. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off.
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