” 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. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. ” Her words were slurred with sleep. Let me only wear your livery. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. You know you do, Annabel. Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. “In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs.
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