
You know I do.

Let’s not argue.

Oh, Raoul, so it is you!

I remember her…

No, what I love best, Lotte said, is when I’m asleep in my bed,
And the Angel of Music plays songs in my head.

Christine, I love you.

Let me be your freedom.

This is the choice.

How young and innocent we were.

Can it be? Can it be Christine?