Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. I can bear anything but suspense. ” 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. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room.
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