“You’ll be five-and-thirty this year, Griffy.” “Yes. Which makes me much too old to be called ‘Griffy.’ ” “More to the point, I am fifty-eight. I need grandchildren before my decline. It’s not right for two generations of the family to be drooling at the same time.” “Your decline?” He laughed. “Tell me, Mother, how can I hasten that happy process? Other than offering a firm push.” Her eyebrow arched in amusement. “Just try it.”
