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“I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. ‘It is of no use to try to stop me. So good an opportunity may never occur again. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. 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. 5.
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