Sydney. [Clapping her hands] I should go and do it now, if I were you. Strike while the iron’s hot.
Kit. You’re mad.
Sydney. [With intense bitterness] Yes, I suppose that’s the right word to fling at me.
Kit. [Between injury and distress] I never meant that. You’re twisting the words in my mouth. You’re just picking a quarrel.
Sydney. [Lazily] Well, what’s one to do with a little boy who won’t take his medicine? I tried to give it you in jam.
Kit. [Curt] You want me to go?
Sydney. Yes.
Kit. For good?
Sydney. Yes.
Kit. Honest?