” He took them out and showed her. “Thought so. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones. “Please not now. I will tell you our plans on the way to the station. ” 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.
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