Agents were dispersed in all directions—offers the most tempting held out to induce the wavering to join the Chevalier's standard. Thames Street was wholly impassable. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. Marvel, who had been a little discomposed by the treatment he had experienced on Holborn Hill, very composedly filled and lighted his pipe. Anna came back into the sitting-room with a little sigh of relief. "You are all right?"—anxiously. 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. "I need not ask whether this is Mr. Mrs.
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