"I have it too!" exclaimed Hogarth, busily plying his pencil. ’ ‘Comment? How will it serve you to kill me?’ ‘I do not need to kill you. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. “Oh I most definitely think so. "It is your son. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. “What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly.
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