There was a gentle rustling of skirts. “Stupid cow. I like high tone for a flourish and stars and ideas; but I want my things. ’ Impatience overtook Melusine’s resolve momentarily. There’s something— something ADULT about you. It was not a long prayer. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. 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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