It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. ” Lucy tried to ignore her awareness that Mike’s ears had perked up. It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. ” 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. They will insist upon a catalogue of things one must not do, which does nothing but fill one with the greatest desire to do them.
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