Geta. He has never left off uttering abuse against you behind your back, unworthy of you, and just befitting himself.
Dem. Well now, have done. (Addressing Phormio.) Young man, in the first place, with your good leave, I ask you this, if you may possibly be pleased to give me an answer: explain to me who this friend of yours was, that you speak of, and how he said that he was related to me.
Phor. (sneeringly.) You are fishing it out, just as if you didn’t know.
Dem. I, know?
Phor. Yes.
Dem. I say I do not; you, who affirm it, recall it to my recollection.
Phor. Come now, didn’t you know your own cousin-german?
Dem. You torture me to death; tell me his name.
Phor. His name?
Dem. Of course. (Phormio hesitates.) Why are you silent now?