"Darling, would you like me to pour you some wine?" he asked, as they seated themselves at the porch. At a distance from cottage number seven the horizon blurred out, giving way to constellations and silver waves breaking at shore. A seemingly friendly yet forlorn set of white linen and lanterns nearby set the stage for music that came alive. With a gaping yawn and quick shiver from the chill, "Yes of course, dear." answered she. His eyes rolled and with deep pain he retorted, "Again? You'd promised me you wouldn't." A fallen face later, he asked, "Was it the wine? Please don't tell me it was the wine." Her unsettled self took another hurried sip and said, "I promise I won't do it again!". "But you just did!", said he. "You know I love you more than I love my wine"; the words instinctively tumbled out. His face morphed into a mix of confusion and delight, as he shuffled in his seat attempting to scour out responses from the back of his brain; there were none. He smiled and a quick peck echoed the instant as the distant ringing of the village postmaster's bell.
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