“Shari told me. ” 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. Her eyes were insane with rage, crusted with yellow and green, only beginning to heal from her long sojourn underground. Offer to return it to each in private.
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