“Your sex is a terrible fraud. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. “Please forgive me, Lucy. “Cut her throat!” Sebastian snapped. ” 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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