"Are you complaining about my crafting skills? Your dad used to ask me to cut his hair." Old Madam Habsden pouted displeased, but not forgetting something more important than cutting hair, she generously let him off, "Hurry up and fix it. Make sure it looks good. If you deliberately make yourself look bad, I'll be angry."
Edward Jackson, already in his thirties and past the age of curiosity, still being lectured by his mother like a child, felt helpless, "I won't."
"Better not, or I'll use a stick to hit you." After her childish threat, Old Madam pushed him out.
Once he left.
She settled back, affectionately cradling the little girl on the bed who had stopped crying, "Grandma's little sweetheart, why did you cry just now? Grandma didn't cry, so don't cry next time. Seeing you cry made Grandma's heart ache."
