What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. The curtain rose out of the concluding bars of the overture and revealed Isolde on the prow of the barbaric ship.
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