I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. “I can’t endure it,” she said. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up. 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. I hope you will always remember——” Annabel held out her hands with a little cry of protest.
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