He’s a
prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. I can now give myself to
God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. But that title
he would not endure. “Well, hello there. This time he couldn't get far. 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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This video was uploaded to kooplokaalmontferland.info on 02-07-2024 02:00:49