” 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 had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding. . She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. “I remember it very well indeed.
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