Master, your humble servant. Then she shrugged. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. ” 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. ” He leaned back for his soup. The stranger with a bow returned to his table.
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