Don't be deceived, Dickie, you aren't strong enough to trifle with them,--or with yourself, which is more important.
Moreover,--Come back, Binkie: that red daub isn't going anywhere,--unless you take precious good care, you will fall under the damnation of the check-book, and that's worse than death.

You will get drunk--you-re half drunk already--on easily acquired money.

For that money and you own infernal vanity you are willing to deliberately turn out bad work.

You'll do quite enough bad work without knowing it.

And, Dickie, as I love you and as I know you love me, I am not going to let you cut off your nose to spite your face for all the gold in England.
That's settled.