Lotte stood up and switched on the electric light, which filled the room with a dense, brilliant orange light. As she poured the tea, Gurdweill watched her graceful, rounded movements and thought: ‘She really is a wonderful girl, this Lotte. A “thoroughbred”. She really deserves to be loved. If I didn’t love … What a strange nightmare I had last night … By daylight things take on their proper proportions, their true colours … A nightmare like that can make a man desperate. Thank God nights like last night come to an end.’

‘What lovely hands you’ve got, Lotte,’ he found himself saying.

‘Have you only noticed now? A little late in the day …’

‘No, not only now. I’ve known it for a long time. They have a life of their own.’

He took her hand and examined it. ‘They’re like two kind, beautiful little living creatures. You could look at them forever without getting tired.’

‘Very nice!’ said Lotte, a pleased, excited blush covering her face. ‘And now let’s have our tea.’

She stirred her tea, gripped the handle of the teacup between her thumb and forefinger, and, with her other fingers daintily curled and fanned out, began taking little sips with her full lips pursed and protruding slightly towards the rim of the cup. Soft sucking sounds trembled intimately in the air, giving rise to an indefinable happiness …