” It was sitting in her suitcase in the same pocket as the expired bus tickets. That’s why I chucked Manning. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. ” 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. She could not say who, not yet.
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