And he thought to himself, “There are ways that I haven’t tried at all!” And he thought to himself: “Endless little things are beautiful and wonderful beyond words. And I can love Christie and forgive her for hating ‘Platonic’; and I can love Gerda and forgive her for letting Bob Weevil pull up her clothes. And if Christie and Gerda knew what I know, they’d forgive me for loving both of them! Christie would forgive me for not telling her. Gerda would forgive me for not telling her. There are things a person can’t tell. But there’s a way of floating like a mist out of my pride and conceit. There’s a way of accepting myself as Mr. Promise-Breaking-Beer-Soup, and yet not minding it at all⁠ ⁠… just becoming a cloud of mist that enjoys this cool wind⁠ ⁠… a cloud of mist that pities everything and enjoys everything!”

He swung away, back from the tree, at this, and let Gerda go.