” 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 gripped the window-sill behind him. . In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely. Aware of his father's inflexibility of purpose, he set his wits to work to defeat the design.
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