” 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. ‘I hope I do not understand you. I might have told you the truth. ” Anna stood up. ” She surveyed this sentence for some time before going on. Still no sound.
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