“Will you be moral and your species, or immoral and yourself? We’ve decided to be immoral. ‘They lived with him, one after the other, for all the world as his wife. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. And the jailers also retired. She felt she had to go on. 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. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. “My word holds,” she said. As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door. She could not part with dignity. It tore her apart.
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