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. Mr. Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. "Let him remain," interposed Trenchard. "To-morrow I will take you to him.
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