” 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. “What do you think of that?” he asked. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. ” Annabel looked intently into her glass. He was six blocks away from his home, a ten story building apparently made solely of glass.
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