“Will you come round to the hospital?” he asked. ” 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. We'll get this chap on his feet if only to learn what the trouble is. ” An immense gulf seemed to open between father and daughter as he said these words.
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