” 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’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. "You will find her new. "How long shall I be here?" he asked.
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