She had come to despise those who were fertile out of pure jealousy, but could not admit it to herself. ” 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. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession. And he had destroyed all this.
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