She closed her eyes, discerning the divinations he had been up to during her violin concert. But here the resemblance stopped. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. ” 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.
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