Flaws! He was not a big painter.

He was merely a self-centered, impecunious, improvident Irishman, indifferently skillful, whose vanity and self-indulgence had driven his son off into a vague green world, God alone knew where.

He _was_ a big painter! Posterity would fling that back in the teeth of men! "Kenny!" It was Garry's voice.
"I'm going." "Oh," said Kenny vaguely.

"Yes, of course." He was grateful when the door closed, though he stood for full a minute afterward tapping on the table with his fingers.

Then indignantly he looked up the word failure in Brian's dictionary and underscored it heavily.
Ah! this world of his was amazingly awry and he himself was hurt and unhappy.