By virtue of good breeding, Henry was an extraordinarily compassionate and generous young man. He contained a bomb that would explode at any minute and kill everyone in a twenty foot radius.
His unique burden gave him a sense of perspective which others, to his dismay, found magnetic.
“Be careful around me,” he advised. “There is a bomb in me that could blow up and kill you at any minute.”
“Oh, you’re not that bad!” his friends would laugh. “You haven’t blown us up yet, have you?”
To assuage his own uneasiness he would strive to be exceptionally understanding to those around him, as if he could pay off in acts of kindness the price of the devastation he would inevitably unleash.
The strain made him spiteful. Eventually, he moved to a cabin in the mountains where he was visited only by the postman. Alone and at peace, he could be an honest man in his letters until his final pop.
