” “I met you accidentally,” he reminded her. Kneebone. "I do," replied Kneebone. ” 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. No doubt he has been drinking for days without eating substantially, and his heart gave out. She waited expectantly.
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