” “I’ve never heard Tristan and Isolde. Sebastian slowed the car after they had traveled seventy miles into the countryside. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards befell him.
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