” 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. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. \"High Five, Lucy!\" Michelle exclaimed. ” At the sight of her tears his expression changed to a mingling of triumph and concern. ‘I know that, miss. It's a sorry world," he went on.
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