You've got a point, there.

*He'd been drunk for a week, handing out a king's ransom in cigars to anyone who would listen, I have a son I have a son--and now, more than twenty-two years later and almost as drunk, he can't help turning his head and finding Evan across the reception. His voice is thick.*

He turned out all right.

And the spaniel's nice.

At least she isn't a Higgs.