“Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. Moving to the shuttered window, Melusine dragged the heavy drapes back. I presume that you have been living alone?” She sighed gently. She did this to please him. ” 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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