She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet. They simply understood there was a greater need to get over the past than to talk about it. Then she looked up at Brendon. ” 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. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time.
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