"I don't want to breathe in my coffin. When I'm dead I'm dead, and when
I'm alive I'm alive. Don't talk about dying."
"Why not? Think of the gorgeous risk of it—the supreme toss up. After all, death's the most thrilling thing that happens."
"Whose death?"
"My death."
"Don't talk about it."
"Your death then."
"Oh, mine—"
"Our death, Jeanne."
He turned to her in the path. His mouth was hard now, but his eyes shone at her, smiling, suddenly warm, suddenly tender.
She knew herself then; she knew there was one cruelty, one brutality beyond bearing, John's death.