The curtain rose out of the concluding bars of the overture and revealed Isolde on the prow of the barbaric ship. This is a case either of suicide or murder. She opened it and imbibed. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees.
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