“Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. But, no. ” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend. ” He did not look at her. ” 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. She walked through the office to the door, aimlessly.
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