"I didn't think you'd been so easily fooled, Joan. Anyway, I only smoke occasionally. This moment couldn’t be better until the next moment comes. Free! All the fine ecstasy, without the numbing terror. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door.
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