” 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. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. He could neither stifle nor deaden that. " "Mr. Well, I shall be sorry to lose him, Mr. Won't you, Jack?" "That I will," answered Sheppard, eagerly. .
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