” 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. Brown was not a blind man and had assiduously observed many a student soap opera over the years. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently.
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