FAITH leans against him, as it were indifferently, clearly expecting him to kiss her, but he doesn't.
FAITH. When I was a little girl I had a cake covered with sugar. I ate the sugar all off and then I didn't want the cake—not much.
JOHNNY. [Suddenly, removing his arm] Gosh! If I could write a poem that would show everybody what was in the heart of everybody else—!
FAITH. It'd be too long for the papers, wouldn't it?
JOHNNY. It'd be too strong.
FAITH. Besides, you don't know.
Her eyelids go up.
JOHNNY. [Staring at her] I could tell what's in you now.
FAITH. What?
JOHNNY. You feel like a flower that's been picked.