I have no right to love you. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. But it is my fault. " After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even if there was the flavour of irony. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. ” Brendon hesitated for a moment. Then she would have quiet times, in which she would say to herself, “Now look here! Let me think it all out!” For the first time, it seemed to her, she faced the facts of a woman’s position in the world—the meagre realities of such freedom as it permitted her, the almost unavoidable obligation to some individual man under which she must labor for even a foothold in the world. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. “Men’s waists are neither here nor there; A man scores always, everywhere. 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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