” 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. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. "Come along! We'll start that concert right away. It is a true saying that in the mountains there is peace.
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