"You will do no such thing, if you truly love me, Pippand," said Rosédès. "If he dies, I too will die; I will leap off the parapet of the Western Tower like Ninielle at the death of Turin. No, Pippand, you will content yourself with my friendship and you will not follow your evil thoughts."
"Like Ninielle? I thought it was I you loved as a brother," retorted Pippand, popping another mushroom. "And what assures you that he has not departed for ever? He has been away on the Pharazon with Captain Trasque for several months."
"He will return," said Rosédès. "I have faith."
Pippand said nothing, but turned bright red and choked - whether on his rage or the mushroom was hard to tell. Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door.
"Rosédès!" came a voice that seemed about to explode with utter, orgasmic joy.
"Samouard!" cried Rosédès, leaping to her feet and rushing to open the door to her modest but chaste and pure dwelling. She and Samouard ran into each other's arms and embraced each other so tenderly yet passionately that their two souls were as one, even as a Silmaril cannot be separated from the light that inhabiteth it, without ceasing to be a Silmaril. Pippand's hand moved insensibly to the barrow-knife in his belt.
"I love you!" screamed the lovers. Pippand looked as though he were suffering from the mal de siècle; but the couple's attention was elsewhere.
