\"Actually, John, I really must get going. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. To-morrow we'll raise our first island. The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. ” 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. And it's a maxim of universal application: or, at least, of universal practice. “Let me help you,” he begged. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there.
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