Is that the way you speak to your mother ?" "No, Aunt Amy." "Well, then, if you don't speak to your mother like that, you mustn't speak to me like that, either." "No, Aunt Amy." "Well, then..." This hatred was quite new to him.

He had once, years ago, hated a black-faced doll that had been given to him.

He had not known why he hated it, but there it had been.

He had thrown it out of the window, and the gardener had found it and brought it into the house again, battered and bruised, but still alive, with its horrid red smile, and this had terrified him...

He had begun to burn it, and the nurse had caught him and slapped him.