"'But now we really can't keep them waiting any longer, and I've mentioned only one of the two things I wanted to ask you, the less important; the other is more important to me, but I'm afraid you'll never consent. Would it annoy you if we were to call each other tu?'
'Annoy me? My dear fellow! Joy! Tears of joy! Undreamed-of happiness!'
'Thank you so much. I'll wait for you to start first. It's such a pleasure to me that you needn't do anything about Mme de Guermantes if you'd rather not.'
'I can do both.'
'I say, Robert! Listen to me a minute,' I said to him later during dinner. 'Oh, it's really too absurd, this conversation in fits and starts. I can't think now - you remember the lady I was speaking to you about just now.'
'Yes.'
'You're quite sure you know who I mean?'
'Why, what do you take me for, a village idiot?'
'You wouldn't care to give me her photograph, I suppose?'
I had meant to ask him only for the loan of it. But as I was about to speak I was overcome with shyness, feeling that the request was indiscreet, and in order to hide my confusion I formulated it more bluntly and amplified it, as if it had been quite natural.
'No, I should have to ask her permission first,' was his answer.
He blushed as he spoke. I could see that he had a reservation in his mind, that he attributed one to me as well, that he would further my love only partially, subject to certain moral principles, and for this I hated him."
Marcel Proust, The Guermantes Way, pp. 101-102
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