You will be the death of me and I of you.
Conde: I hear you. I do. But of all the reasons you've expound of why we can't be together none are of the heart. I have to fight every instinct I have pulling me toward you. When I'm near you I am aware of every breath you take and when I am away even the wind in the trees reminds me of you.
Mary: You will be the death of me and I of you.