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My father died a year ago, by the way. I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. . It was her job to keep the house as neat as a pin, up to the high standard that Sheila expected, being a nurse. “How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see. But here she met with a check.

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