John. In some cases, not in others.
Julie. Have you ever loved?
John. We people don’t use that word. But I’ve liked many girls, and once it made me quite ill not to be able to get the girl I wanted, as ill, mind you, as the princes in “The Arabian Nights,” who are unable to eat or drink out of pure love. [He takes up the boots again.]
Julie. Who was it? [JOHN is silent.]
John. You can’t compel me to tell you.
Julie. If I ask you as an equal, as—a friend? Who was it?
John. You!
Julie.[Sits down.] How funny!
John. And if you want to hear the story, here goes! It was humorous. This is the tale, mind you, which I would not tell you before, but I’ll tell you right enough now. Do you know how the world looks from down below? No, of course you don’t. Like hawks and eagles, whose backs a man can scarcely ever see because they’re always flying in the air. I grew up in my father’s hovel along with seven sisters and—a pig—out there on the bare gray field, where there wasn’t a single tree growing, and I could look out from the window on to the walls of the Count’s parks, with its apple-trees. That was my Garden of Eden, and many angels stood there with a flaming sword and guarded it, but all the same I, and other boys, found my way to the Tree of Life—do you despise me?
Julie. Oh, well—stealing apples? All boys do that.