“Leave them!” He yelled. ” 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. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day.
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