” 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. And, for a man who'll never see sixty again, he's in excellent preservation, I assure you. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. I do not care, but only that you will leave my affairs to me. She loves you too well for that. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. I rather want them.
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