"You mustn't talk any more; the excitement isn't good for you. "Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. 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.
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