She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. Little did he know that she had begged her parents as a youngster to get her a language tutor. "It is too late. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. Into one of these he waded and rolled and rolled, despite her commands.
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