“Then what did you do?”
Lucy’s eyes leveled with her. “And you?”
“Same thing. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy
face from me?
She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the
Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned
some verse of tender lyric beauty. ”
He bent and kissed her hair and paused, and then forced his attention back to
the map. "But what, may I ask, arouses the thought?"
The doctor was in high good humour. She found herself again in the presence of
some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which
she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in
spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and
courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell
into a free and spacious world. 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. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in
her life, was joyful for her. ”
“You will shake hands with me, please,” she begged.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 07-07-2024 15:27:34