Then it came to her with a shock, as an extraordinary oversight, that she could never tell Manning about Ramage—never. The body of the edifice stood on the south side of Newgate Street, and projected at the western extremity far into the area opposite Saint Sepulchre's Church. The preparations to meet him were immense, roses were planted everywhere, white and drooping with honeyed fragrance. 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. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her.
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