” 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. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. But you belong to me—and I want you. The sun never shone upon a lovelier couple than now approached the altar. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. Get a license—just an idea of mine.
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