” 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. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. She exhorted Ann Veronica not to become one of “those unsexed intellectuals, neither man nor woman. "Not a single whooper-upter! Nothing but torment and remorse … and Ruth! Children, put your arms around me.
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