“Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. She laughed a little bitterly. I did not reckon upon—him. ‘Ah, the tragedy. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. He dug about in his mind for a term to fit her, and he came upon the word new. ” 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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