’ ‘Don’t be a fool, woman,’ snapped Charvill, thrusting himself further into the room. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. "I am happy—quite happy now. ” 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. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. " "That's the way it goes. Spurlock looked up.
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