While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. They then clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at the back of the house. He dropped the key on the counterpane. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. She sensed a pelvic exam coming on. “No. Tristan dying and Isolde coming to crown his death.
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