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” 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. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. If this idiotic marriage is binding then I will be her friend. Well, I'll take myself off. Wrenching his hands from her shoulders, she thrust them away and leapt up from the chair. ‘How in God’s name did the wretched fellow get in then?’ ‘Dug a tunnel?’ suggested Gerald, halting next to a pair of French windows at the front. D. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words.
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