“I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. 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. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. Sweatshirts and sweatpants were in for a while but they’re out now. ’ ‘But, Marthe, you do not imagine that I would have taken the veil like you, even if you have not told me.
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