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