” 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. I don’t know. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. “A girl needs her mother most exactly when she thinks she doesn’t. ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. . Wily little devil she is. ” John looked at her sympathetically.
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