That night, after Pippin had headed off from Bag End, he stared up at the stars. Diamond, he knew, had always loved the stars in the night sky. He had caught her, more than once, wistfully staring up at the dark sky, the look of her face one of pure peace and joy mixed into one. Pippin found that he was smiling to himself, just thinking about her.
Cut that out now, Pip. Next thing you know, you'll be bloody well sick with infatuation; that won't help you at all when you have to leave tomorrow.
Pippin shook his head. He couldn't help it. Forget about sick with infatuation. He had to ask her. He would ask her. Wouldn't. Would. Wouldn't. Would. Wouldn't. Would. Headache.
