He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. 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. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. "Speak plainly. In the struggle her cap fell off. . Wood. "You do love me?" "God knows how much!" Suddenly he laid his head on her shoulder. Parbleu, but she was a fool. 230 Rhea sprang, teeth flashing.
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