And then the song is over, and, as somebody says, 'When the feast is finished and the lamps expire,' then--well, the lamps expire, and he isn't me any longer, but Michael, with the--the ugly face, and--oh, isn't it horrible of me--the long arms and the little stumpy legs--if only he was rather different in things that don't matter, that CAN'T matter! But--but, Hermann, if only Michael was rather like you, and you like Michael, I should love you exactly as much as ever, and I should love Michael, too." She was leaning forward, and with both hands was very carefully tying and untying one of Hermann's shoelaces.
"Oh, thank goodness there is somebody in the world to whom I can say just whatever I feel, and know he understands," she said.

"And I know this, too--and follow me here, Hermann--I know that all that doesn't really matter; I am sure it doesn't.

I like Michael far too well to let it matter.

But there are other things which I don't see my way through, and they are much more real--" She was silent again, so long that Hermann reached out for a cigarette, lit it, and threw away the match before she spoke.
"There is Michael's position," she said.

"When Michael asks me if I will have him, as we both know he is going to do, I shall have to make conditions.