She was watching me intently.
“Uh huh.”
“You don’t seem to put much enthusiasm in it”
“What do you want me to do? Stand at attention or I jump up on the table and start waving a flag?”
“Don’t be silly. I just said he was a good guy.”
“Don’t be silly, yourself. I said he was, too.”
She looked down at the table for a while, then suddenly looked back up at me and smiled, that steady-eyed, direct smile which had such a suggestion of intimacy. “Don’t get me wrong, Donald. I mean that he’s a good enough guy, but — well, you know how it is. Youth appeals to youth and—”
“Go ahead,” I said, “finish it,” as she seemed to stall on dead center. “What does age appeal to?”
“Nothing.”
I laughed.