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The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. 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. But you must promise me not to go near that abandoned hussy at Willesden. ‘And then you will be obliged to remain in France,’ she pointed out. I don’t want you to talk to me now.
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