Michelle shrugged her off. She waited expectantly. 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. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. What would happen when confronted by the actual? He was young; she was also young and physically beautiful—his lawful wife. Returning to the audience-chamber, Blueskin had the Jew brought before him.
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