by Roald Dahl
Ah, the getaway car. The taxi driver who takes Grandmamma and our narrator away from the hotel is an old man with a mustache. He's kind of an over-sharer. He tells Grandmamma that he used to have mice as a kid and that they breed like, well, mice (not a super-appropriate comment given the circumstances). Most notably, though, he's not really fazed when Grandmamma says that the mouse in her hand is her grandson. Either he's seen a lot of witchery in his day (unlikely, since everyone else at the hotel seemed to be pretty shocked by it) or he just thinks he's talking to a crazy old lady. Mice can't be grandsons! Oh, yes they can.