Getting pushed into a plate of raw liver was not how Neville had intended the evening to begin. "Ew! I mean, pardon!"
"'S good fer the wrinkle," the hag asserted, as a hand slipped into Neville's.
"Don't you mean 'wrinkles'?" Luna asked.
"If yer man were doin' right by ye, dearie, ye'd ken well enough my meanin'."
Mortified, Neville led Luna towards the tap, which was filled with glasses of some thick, green drink.
"Oh! A sexual reference?"
Tom drew himself up as far as his body would allow. "Pea nectar!"
Grateful for the distraction, Neville bought the first round.