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Together they took the elevator to the eighth floor and, as Ignatz Kresnick dealt the cards for the five-hundredth time in that game, all unconscious of his fast-approaching Nemesis, Mozart Rabiner played the concluding measures of the Liebestod softly, slowly, like a benediction: Ertrinken Versinken Unbewusst Höchste Lust. "Who do you think I seen it in Hammersmith's just now, Mawruss?"
Claude rushed for a bucket of water and dashed it in the old woman's face. He flooded her with slashings of it, especially after he saw her open her eyes, ending by emptying the bucket in her face. He was a little malicious about that. The mother sat up soon, wet, scared, bewildered, gasping. "Mein Gott! Mein Gotd Ich bin ertrinken!"
In dem wogenden Schwall, in dem tonenden Schall, in des Welt-Athems wehendem All! ertrinken versinken unbewusst hochste Lust! Oh, think not of that poetry! Think of the music! The surging, drunken, overwhelming waves of music! Do you not hear them do you not hear them? Wie sie schwellen, mich umrauschen! Soll ich athmen, soll ich lauschen!
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