” 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. ” Lucy appeared and appraised him briefly, nonchalantly. ” Lucy would always press her face into her mother’s skirts when she heard the ending, no matter how many times she heard it.
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