And then—this sudden thrust. \"Thanks. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. The room seemed a vacuum. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. But Ruth was his woman, and he had sworn to God to defend her. 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. " There was a pause.
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