” “But how? It has only been a few days!” “She’s not even here. ” “Act two,” she continued. “I have not the least idea who he is. She leaned back in her chair. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. 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.
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