“I don’t think we’re altogether so spiteful,” protested Clifford.

“My dear Clifford, think of the way we talk each other over, all of us. I’m rather worse than anybody else, myself. Because I infinitely prefer the spontaneous spite to the concocted sugaries; now they are poison; when I begin saying what a fine fellow Clifford is, etc, etc, then poor Clifford is to be pitied. For God’s sake, all of you, say spiteful things about me, then I shall know I mean something to you. Don’t say sugaries, or I’m done.”

“Oh, but I do think we honestly like one another,” said Hammond.

“I tell you we must⁠ ⁠… we say such spiteful things to one another, about one another, behind our backs! I’m the worst.”