“One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. There will be no more children in this house, not ever! And if anyone ever tries bringing children into our house again, I shall kill the lot of them. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. 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. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. .
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