Hands still steady despite raised veins and the occasional liver spot twitched idly on M's lap, finding the paper of her lunch bag (And wasn't that a nice little bit of psychology, parcelling them all off like five year olds to nursery school.) and pleating the top of it over itself.

Just an old woman amusing herself with the philosophizing of the young, you see.

"Mm, perhaps," she admitted. "Of course, it now breeds a new crop of insulated young idiots -- yourself excluded, dear," she nodded to him, "Who operate on the principle that because they can have plenty of food and a great deal of sex, the world is nothing like Orwell's."