(From Henry's email to Alex)

Henry (to Alex): Perhaps I could live in your room like a recluse. You could have food sent up for me, and I'll be lurking in disguise in a shadowy corner when you answer the door. It'll all be very dreadfully Jane Eyre. The Mail will write mad speculations about where I've gone, if I've offed myself or vanished to St. Kilda, but only you and I will know that I'm just sprawled in your bed, reading books and feeding myself profiteroles and making love to you endlessly until we both expire in a haze of chocolate sauce. It's how I'd want to go.