Toby: On the doorstep; Gwen they called her.
John (with patent relief): Oh! She’s all right ... she’s my sister.
Toby: It’s nice here. Why haven’t you asked me here before?
John: It’s nicer in your room—because it’s yours.
Toby: I hate you sometimes.
John: Why?
Toby: When you say things you don’t mean ... you never wanted me to come here ... you don’t want me now.... If you think I don’t know ... that’s why I’ve come. If you’d had the courage to say out you didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t of....
[He has no answer.
... I wish I hadn’t now; coming all up through a great horrid strange house; I nearly went away again.
John: I’m glad you didn’t.