" "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. ‘I do not believe you. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. ’ ‘Nonsense, it’ll give Pottiswick something genuine to complain about,’ said Gerald cheerfully, moving to the edge of the trees. “If I cut her neck, you’ll never get the stains out of your fancy car. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight.
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