I’ll buzz him for you. ” 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. He patted the hand on his sleeve. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. ‘Oh, we was always in there, miss,’ admitted Joan, moving closer. Both had lived rather quietly until a scandal had opened up a can of worms for the son, allegations of child abduction, reported sightings of a white van around nearby elementary schools. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. She was like an angel with one wing. D. They were things I had meant very much to talk to you about, so that I went home vexed and disappointed, and only relieved myself a little by writing a few verses. That’s my opinion, if you ask me. So they fenced with smiles.
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