“When no one was looking he picked a few nits off the paper towel. Then he wandered over to Peter and casually fingered a lock of his hair. ‘Mum!’ squealed Peter, ‘Henry’s pulling my hair!‘. ‘Stop it, Henry,’ said Dad. ‘I wasn’t pulling his hair,’ said Henry indignantly. ‘I just wanted to see how clean it was. And it is so lovely and clean,’ added Henry sweetly. ‘I wis my hair was as clean as Peter’s.’ Peter beamed. It wasn’t often that Henry said anything nice to him.
“My, you ought to seen old Henry the Eight when he was in bloom. He was a blossom. He used to marry a new wife every day, and chop off her head next morning. And he would do it just as indifferent as if he was ordering up eggs.”