Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. 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. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1Ljg3LjE2MSAtIDI3LTA5LTIwMjQgMTg6NTY6NDAgLSAxNjkwNjU2MjI5
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 03:51:05