“Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. 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 carried no more than bare subsistence wages; and they demanded all her time and energy. He, a Chinaman, troubling himself over Occidental ideas! With his hands in his sleeves, he proceeded on his way.
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