The finale of the act came, the curtain fell. Light,

applause, general exit. Ezra and Esther sat as silent and

remote in the taxi going home from The Metropolitan Opera

as they had sat in their opera-box facing the stage —

almost, one might say, in the same atmosphere. Nothing was

there which could alienate them from that extravagant and stormily

passionate world which worked upon them with its magic power to

draw them to itself. The taxi stopped; they did not

at once realize where they were, or that they had

arrived before the door of their house on 82nd Street.

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Paraphrases from the short story “The Blood of the Walsungs” by Thomas Mann.

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