Introduced to the child in the nursing home, he recoiled with a startled "Oi!" and as the days went by the feeling that he had run up against something red-hot had in no way diminished. The only thing that prevented a father's love from faltering was the fact that there was in his possession a photograph of himself at the same early age, in which he, too, looked like a homocidal fried egg. This proof that it was possible for a child, in spite of a rocky start, to turn eventually into a suave and polished boulevardier with finely chiselled features heartened him a good deal, causing him to hope for the best.
(from Eggs Beans and Crumpets, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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