"I want you for the job I spoke of a short time ago, Nab," he said. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. And yet he knew clearly and definitely what he purposed to do, what the future would be. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. 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. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. I seek chaos, but not out of choice. It was a mad half-hour. They traveled to distant places, had an apartment in Constantinople and a villa in Paris. She was curious, and at the same time clearly resolved she must not hear it. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told.
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