” 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. Will you tell her that?" "I will," replied Thames, earnestly. "What's that?" asked Wild. ’ ‘Pray don’t,’ begged Mrs Sindlesham, one eye on the general’s embattled features. Or run me through. She had better escape if she can.
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