"Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. I'll dig it up. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. 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. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. So far she had not heard the sound of his voice.
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