"To-morrow night!" said Spurlock, in a wondering whisper. ” 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. " "A clever device," replied Jonathan; "but it won't serve your turn. ’ ‘Well, let us leave your name for the present. You won’t settle and I’m going mad.
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