He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. "If I hadn't just left him, I could have sworn it was Mrs. Not about girls that I date. A-L-I-V-A—Aliva—T-R-EN—Trencher that's it. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window.
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