” 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 blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. D. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. And I am coming to believe the best as well as the most beautiful friends a man can have are girl friends.
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