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'Consigned to everlasting fire,' said Nicholas in a faint voice. He had gone white as chalk.'No, you medieval imbecile!' Edward clenched his fists. 'You still have no grasp of the truth, have you? Leave your angels and devils in the trash of history, where they belong.'
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'Oh, that’s childish,' says Nicholas in disgust.'Well, so what?' says Alec. 'We happen to be children.'
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'Isn’t that a little hard on him? You’re not only making him feel bad about something he didn’t do, you’re making him feel bad about something that didn’t even shracking happen.''I believe churches used to call it original sin,' Rutherford agreed, looking crafty. 'But what does it matter, if it serves to make him a better man?'
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England was a cold, backward, rebellious little kingdom. It's king: Henry the Eighth, remembered principally for his six wives and the chicken legs clutched in his fat fists.