He came back a minute later. A siren was ringing somewhere. "Hold on, Marie. Please hold on," he begged. "Oh, God let her live for me."

"Tom, I have a letter for you." Her words were gibberish. She limply handed him a pink envelope. It was a bit crumpled because she had been clutching it tightly while he phoned.

He held it and embraced Marie.

"I have written it days ago. I felt that I will be here until the sunset. Please take the paintings with you. You will need them to remember me. I'm sorry I haven't told you much of the truth. I was afraid you would hate me for it," she spoke after each breath, gasping. She was taking effort to speak each word.