She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as suddenly extinguished. 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. They walked in silence. It’s just upon my lunch-time. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. They were terrible, horrible people. My friend, I am only grieved that you of all others should have been so deceived. He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity.
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