[Val sags in his chair, a man quite overcome.]

By all means, a glass. And if I die of happiness the moment that wine strikes my tongue, please do not blame yourself. Tell everyone I perished a happy man, doing one of the things he loves best in the world.

[To the ceiling and, beyond the ceiling, the Maker, he offers a prayer of thanks:]

Antivan wine. What a woman this is, with connections and contacts most secret.