I said as little as possible; it is the only safe thing.
"Face massage, Sir?"
"No, thanks," I mumbled.
"Wonderful thing for the face, Sir; make a new man of you. Invigorates the circulation, improves the complexion—"
"Oh, all right," I gasped.
And then for about twenty minutes snatches of conversation floated to me through bundles of wet towels. My head was having a Turkish bath. My face was covered with ointments and creams. Currents of electricity played about my brow.
"Just trim your hair, Sir?"
I swear I said "No," but before I knew what was happening the scissors were running merrily over my head.
"Singeing, Sir?"
"Er—no. I—"