"I made tea, Tom."
"Thank you, darling."
"Sugar?"
"A little, please. It tastes a bit…is this Earl Grey, dearest?"
"Chamomile."
"Damndest thing, I thought it tasted peculiar."
"I'm ss-…sorry."
"No matter, I'll just pour it out."
"Don't!"
"Whyever - Heavens, love, you've blanched. Have you the vapours?"
"Please drink it, Tom. If you love me. I made it special."
"I'll taste it again but…no, it's still odd."
"Tom. Please."
"Merope….oh, don't cry, poppet. Please. I can't bear to see you –"
"Your tea's going cold, Tom. Have another sip and you'll see."
"Oh? You're right. Pity, I…I find it most agreeable."