Micio. So it seems to me.
Demea. Well, well;
Let him, if ’tis your pleasure, waste, destroy.
And squander; it is no concern of mine.
If henceforth I e’er say one word——
Micio. Again?
Angry again, good Demea?
Demea. You may trust me.
Do I demand him back again I gave you?
—It hurts me. I am not a stranger to him.