” 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. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. “We settled long ago—we’re hard stuff. This I know for at the Valade estate it was talked of very much, even that they supposed me there to be the daughter of Suzanne. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. ‘They lived with him, one after the other, for all the world as his wife.
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