Michel sipped his water and raised an eyebrow at Varner's comment.
"Completely understandable, Herr Varner, no forgiveness is necessary."
He took another sip of water, set his glass down, and stood.
"Then, perhaps, you are more in need of a happy fiction than I thought." He paused. "Despite your convictions against the joys of life." He walked over to the desk, and pulled a large accordion file out of the bottom drawer. He rifled through the files, trying to pick out a story appropriate for the German.
"Ah, here we are. This would be a good one." It was a short tale of two children growing up just outside of Paris, and the stories they dreamed of in their shared backyard, that he'd been contemplating expanding into a novella. He walked back and sat down, handing the bound papers to Varner.