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. His
glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual
defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. You cannot care for her. Her
breath came fast in little sobbing pants. It does not matter to him either way. She was a very elegant young woman,
slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength
underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. 104
< 14 >
THE UNTIMELY DEMISE OF JOSEPH R. ‘In fact, I’ve never met anyone who
goaded me to so much violence.
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