Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. ” 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. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. ” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her.
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