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"I couldn't go on!" "You'll need something more than courage now. ” He said bravely. "Read that," rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. 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.
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